


Theurgy

by merelyans



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anxiety Attacks, Dark Magic, Demon Akaashi Keiji, Demons, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fantasy, I cannot guarantee sexy smut I am just an asexual trying their best okay, M/M, Magic, Nightmares, Temporary Character Death, Witch Kozume Kenma, Witch Kuroo, Witch Oikawa Tooru, Witch Sugawara Koushi, Witches, but mainly angst sorry, daisuga centric, is slow burn smut a thing, original lore, there's some fluff too, this gets dark but what did you expect, witch Bokuto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 163,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyans/pseuds/merelyans
Summary: Wind sweeps through the circle, lighting the candle, the flame unwavering in the sudden gust. Suga’s hand stings, and he holds in a pained gasp as the wax starts to drip red. His outfit turns completely black as the blood-wax begins to spill over the page, forming the image of himself."Do you pledge yourself to Them?"
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 228
Kudos: 143





	1. Bad Moon Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to make a few small notes that this has a weird combination of American/Japanese culture as it takes place in New England, that this is my own lore and is not meant to reflect actual magic, and I have only the utmost respect for real witches.

"I already told you, I have plans." Suga turns around, wiping his hands on his apron, looking everywhere behind the counter for his dish. "And I need the fries for table three."

Tanaka rolls his eyes, his head resting with his elbows propped up on the counter. A manager would never like to see him slack off like this, but he _was_ the manager. In fact, he owned the whole place ever since his mother died and his father, in a drunken fit of depression, drove himself off Clancy Bridge. 

Saeko, his older sister, was meant to take over, but everything reminded her too much of their parents. She came back for holidays, she has so much love for her little brother, the only person she has left, but she can’t stand to look at the grease traps she spent her childhood around. It only took one panic attack and a thrown knife for Tanaka to take over on his own.

Suga remembers when they called him out of club to tell him about his mother, Tanaka breaking out into a run to his bike to get to the hospital. It took twenty minutes by bike, and they knew that he would never make it in time. 

He never did. And her last words to him were to ask for another cup of jello.

Suga also remembers, most likely better than even Tanaka does, how Tanaka had left his house for the first time in weeks after his mother's death to finally try to get his life back on track. A night out with friends. A night to himself. It was that night, the first night he left his dad alone, that he lost him, too. 

He still blames himself, and not once did he ever get mad at Suga for inviting him out that night. Instead, he offered Suga a job so that he could keep him close for the foreseeable future. He needed someone familiar, and nothing was ever Suga’s fault. 

Suga swallowed that guilt long ago.

"Can I at least tag along with your roommates? I mean, what are you doing that's so special that I can't even come celebrate?" 

"House tradition. Everyone, even Oikawa last year, goes on a camping trip on their twenty-first, to haze a little, drink, be one with nature."

"Yeah," Tanaka snorts. "Just what every twenty-one year old wants! No, that's so lame!" Tanaka whines, popping the cap off a bottle of old fashioned creme soda on the edge of the counter.

"Fries for table three, please." Suga groans impatiently, snapping his fingers.

Tanaka takes a long sip of his soda, goes over to the fryer and fills a plate with hot oily fries, handing them over. Suga grabs some pre-made garlic aioli from the fridge to go with it, silently thanking Tanaka. He steps out and quickly delivers the fries as the customers take a sip of their drinks so that he can get out of there before they have the chance to stop him and ask for more things. 

He wasn't going to let the last customers of the night keep him from his birthday plans. He hurries back to the kitchen, eyeing the clock.

Time was going by way too slowly, and his heart grew ever more restless.

"Camping is so lame!" Tanaka reiterates. "I mean, the woods are haunted, and you even want to go there at night?" He shivers. "I could never."

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Suga’s lips curl into a smile. “I’d expect you and Nishinoya from the… whatever it is he works at, what does he call it?"

“Teen hangout,” Tanaka supplies.

“See? Now that’s just weird. It’s just a place that plays music that’s too loud.”

“Getting off topic, but don’t you remember how we would always go after school?”

“It’s not as fun as I remember, and besides, I was too busy spending _quality time_ with my dad to actually ever have good memories there.”

“Glad your dad moved out of that house and that you got roommates. It’s a lot less creepy now that you don’t live there alone.”

“It was never creepy!” Suga checks the time.

“You must be excited for such a lame trip. You, your roommates, the haunted woods. Maybe if you bring a camera I can make a Blair Witch style movie of how you die.”

Suga can't help but half-scoff, half-laugh.

"I know camping is lame, but if my roommates had to suffer through it, then I have to suffer through it, too. We can celebrate this weekend, okay? And the woods aren't haunted, they're just trees with history," Suga looks at the clock again, Tanaka’s unease not settling one bit. Eleven at night. "And with that, my shift is over, I am free, and…” He looks at table three putting a few dollars on the table. “Pay for my drink when we go out because I know you'll steal my tip."

"Fair enough," Tanaka shrugs, turning off the neon sign outside. The red, blue, and green glow on the pavement lingers for a split second before dissipating in the air. "But hey, I mean it, be careful in the woods tonight. It's going to be cold for June tonight."

"Yeah, I will." 

Suga removes his apron and tosses it into his bag, shoving everything into his backpack alongside his textbooks. He had been studying for one of his upcoming finals during his break, but he couldn't focus at all. Not on the night of his twenty-first. He goes out front, looking down the empty street as he unlocks his bike from the rack, getting on and making his way home. 

A usual night. No one would ever suspect a thing. 

He looks up at the moon. It wasn't anything special, just a waxing crescent, but it was the moon he was going to be converted under, and he couldn't be more excited. He had been waiting for this night all his life, and he wasn't going to get home on time at this rate.

 _"Velox."_ He mutters, his wheels starting to spin faster. He takes his feet off the pedals as he starts to go downhill, the wind whipping through his hair. 

He felt free.

He smiles, biting back a laugh, the stars remaining constant as the town becomes a blur. New England towns were boring, in his experience, but there was so much rich history that he just had to love it. It was where he was born, after all, and it was probably where he was going to die. But he was fine with living life in such a boring town.

Of course, no town was ever as boring as it seemed, and even though most of the town youth rejected it and vowed to one day escape Claremont, there was something compelling that made people stay. Something that no one could place. 

Maybe it was the rich forest that lined one side with leaves so richly red that it looked like a fire every autumn. Or perhaps it was the lullaby that the river seemed to provide at times when no one thought it was listening. Or maybe it was the strange static in the air, the kind that made people close their blinds when outsiders came into town. Or maybe it was the lingering scent of burning sage that seemed to blow in with every gentle breeze.

Suga loved the smell of burning sage. His house always smelled of it, his parents making it a family event to bundle it all together, and he kept that tradition. He always smelled of lavender and rosemary, juniper and valerian root. He loved the smell of dew on his herb garden in the morning, the smell that the new sprigs of whatever had decided to pop up overnight had brought with each morning sun.

He takes a deep breath of the night air, everything tingling as he laughs a bit to himself. He can't help but smile on a beautiful night like this. When the air is so blissful you’d never believe it was June, when the shock of a chill crept up his spine, when the air bit at your nose and made it red and raw out of season. It was wonderful.

He puts his feet back on the spinning pedals and rides all the way home, to the house on the hill at the end of a cul-de-sac. The houses on either side of his own had "for sale" signs planted deep into their front lawns. One has a large "sold" sticker on it that had not been there earlier that day. 

Suga gets off his bike and walks it into the garage, craning his neck to try and see who might have moved in. He walks into the house, about to ask about the house next door before the smell of detergent hits his nose. Suga slips his backpack off of his shoulder onto the kitchen table and looks at Kuroo, who is dressed for the occasion, ironing his jacket. 

Suga scrunches up his nose, inhaling the smell of wet dust.

"Is Bokuto trying to wash his suit by hand again?"

"Yes." Kuroo says flatly without looking up.

"Is it working?"

"No." 

Suga nods and exits to the upstairs bathroom, popping his head into Oikawa’s room with a quick hello, before going to where Bokuto is trying to wash his clothes in the bathtub. Suga lets air out of his lungs, not surprised.

"Bo, just take my suit. I have an extra that’s too big for me."

"No, I wore this on my twenty-first and I need to wear it again. It's my best suit."

"Did you really have to wash it in the bathtub, then?"

"I am not going to put a suit this special in the washing machine, Suga!" Bokuto angrily closes the door with his foot. "Go get dressed!"

Suga shakes his head, turns around, and enters his room, his clothing already laid out for him. Kuroo must be more anxious for this than he was. He starts to get dressed, trying to wash the smell of diner burgers and fries out of his skin and hair with a few sprays of rosewater. Bokuto walks in a little while later in a fully dry suit.

"Did you give up?" Suga smirks, side-eyeing Bokuto while doing his makeup.

Bokuto crosses his arms over his chest, and Suga’s brush drags blush across his face. 

Suga glares at him and Bokuto grins back.

"Stalling is only going to make us late." Suga warns, wiping the excess blush off the side of his face. 

"Can't have that." Bokuto mocks Kuroo’s voice, the sound coming out in perfect vibrato. "But really, come on, as much as I love making fun of Kuroo, we really can't be late, so hurry up."

"Which is why we're leaving soon," Kuroo calls up from the bottom of the staircase. “Whether you three are ready or not!”

"Come on, you both look gorgeous, now let's go, lest we anger our guests." Oikawa pops his head in, wearing more makeup than Suga.

His voice actually carried a twinge of worry in it, something that never really happened unless Oikawa was deeply terrified. Bokuto nods and Suga follows him downstairs, Kuroo opening the back door that opens up to the woods. Beyond the light of the porch lamps, it was pitch black.

The night is drafty, chilled, but it was clear, almost perfect. It was raining and nearly sweltering on Oikawa’s birthday when he walked off alone, Bokuto’s being not much better with the storm season, and Kuroo’s had been so foggy that you couldn't see two feet in front of you. Suga watched them walk off the porch and then they hadn't returned until much later, nearly giving Suga a heart attack when they had seemingly appeared out of thin air hours later.

The four of them walk into the thick of the forest, the murmurs of the city disappearing behind them the further they got.

The woods obeyed their will, and the trees seemed to move and twist so that no matter what direction you walked in, you would find your way. The woods took kindly to them. Especially these woods. After a few minutes, they find the large oak tree at the edge of a clearing, rotten bits of rope still hanging from the thick branches.

Suga’s stomach sours and his feet go cold looking at the rope. Just the sight of it sucked all the air out of the woods, bringing whispers in the wind. Bokuto, Oikawa, and Kuroo bow their heads, Suga doing the same. It was a sign of respect, and he wanted to show his long gone elders that he wasn't a mistake. That he fit in perfectly to complete what they were forbidden from.

The tree branch was in the shape of an arc from all the weight that had once been on it, and walking under it, reality seemed to bend around them, everything fuzzy, running in slow motion. Before them, in the clearing, the night comes alive, a circle of people each holding black candles standing around a grimoire in the center. 

Kuroo, Oikawa, and Bokuto take their candles off the stand near the branch and complete their spots in the circle, the flames igniting as soon as they touch the wax. Suga takes the last remaining candle, the pure white one, and walks up to the grimoire, his heart pounding.

A looming voice swoops from the chant of the circle. The first few moments of his birthday have begun.

"Koushi Sugawara, Son of Night, do you pledge yourself to The Faction of the Dark?"

"I do." Suga looks down at his candle, the grimoire opening by itself, flipping through the pages to an empty one. "I pledge my body and soul to this coven and my branch family."

Wind sweeps through the circle, lighting the candle, the flame unwavering in the sudden gust. Suga’s hand stings, and he holds in a pained gasp as the wax starts to drip red. His outfit turns completely black as the blood-wax begins to spill over the page, forming the image of himself.

"Do you pledge yourself to Them?"

"I pledge my body and soul to see out the Will of The Dark Ones," Suga says clearly, the wax burning rapidly, leaving almost nothing behind. He recites what he’s been told, over and over, practiced so many times in his room. "And vow to keep the balance of the world against the Light."

The officiator smiles down at him, then acknowledges the rest of the group.

"Brothers and Sisters, hail to the new pledge."

The coven repeats the chant, over and over again, until the candle burns up, Suga’s blood spilled over the pages of the grimoire, firmly cementing his place in The Faction of the Dark. He looks to his housemates, his branch family, who have never looked so proud as they chant their hails to their newest member.

He was a full Child of Night now, like his friends, like his parents, and like everyone before them, and he was now sealed to carry out the Will of The Dark One. 

And in the light of the ritual candles, he smiles.


	2. Season of the Witch

"You feel any different?" Oikawa pats Suga’s back, Kuroo wrapping his cut in enchanted gauze. 

"A little, I guess." Suga smiles a bit.

It’s not a lie, his body really is tingling, a dull surge in what he knows is his own magic. It throbs, but feels like home. 

"Well, you're officially part of the coven now. I've never been more proud!" Bokuto dramatically kisses the top of Suga’s head. 

The grandfather clock in their foyer rings out in three chimes, time having passed a lot faster than Suga imagined. However, it made sense, with all the birthday wishes his coven had given him, the hours of walking through the forest, and the bitter “we have a Sugawara heir in our branch” pats on the back by the officials. Kuroo mutters a spell, the gauze turning yellow before he removes it, Suga’s cut fully healed.

"Witching hour, you know what that means!" Oikawa claps happily, strutting over to the fridge. "Happy birthday, Suga-chan!" He brings out a cake, placing it in front of Suga.

It’s black and purple, the colors of The (New England) Faction of the Dark, with scrawled white lettering of his name, which is a tell-tale sign that Bokuto made it. He may be one of the best bakers in town, but his lettering leaves something to be desired.

"You guys didn't have to make me a cake," Suga looks at the cake with a huge smile that counters his words. Oikawa snaps his fingers, a flame appearing between his thumb and index finger. He lights the candles and shakes his hand like a match to put out the flames.

Oikawa was a conjurer for The Faction of the Dark, and Kuroo was one of the top spellcasters in the state. Bokuto… did his own thing, favoring small acts of mischief magic that allowed for the summoning of familiars and creating illusions. 

Suga knew that he would have to choose a main path to walk down, and soon, but it isn’t like he hasn’t given it twenty-one years of thought. 

He could do anything he wanted, voodoo magic, conjuring, summoning, herbalism, potions, or so much more. He wanted to do something safe, something easy that would ultimately help the coven. 

Something discreet that his dad would have despised.

Something that wouldn’t let anyone else in town turn their heads for, ever since the high school volleyball club incident where a fit of anger at another team had given everyone within ten feet of him a nosebleed, his own body bloodied at the overuse of magic, him being the only one to pass out.

No, the town couldn’t ever know, lest the fabled witch hunters come.

But Suga loves his coven, he loves his assigned housemates, and most importantly, he loves being Dark, which allows for more room to grow than the Light ever did. 

The earth held a balance. Light and Dark. Day and Night. Yin and Yang. Every culture had some version of it, but unfortunately, he lived in a place where they called it Good and Evil. If the history lessons of his town, the witch trials that took place in the very woods that he grew up next to, the stories of his ancestors, weren’t enough to help him come to realize that he would never be able to be anything other than _dark_ to the town, then he owed Claremont nothing.

Darkness wasn't necessarily _evil_ , such as how Lightness wasn't necessarily _good._

He laughed when people called witches “devil worshippers”, the idea was just so ridiculous to him. Real witches had nothing to do with Christian theology. The Devil didn't exist. Neither did God. Only nature was true, and witches were tasked with keeping the balance. If “satanic” was being used as a word to describe someone who opposed religion, then yes, he was wholly satanic, but there was no _Devil_ involved. Only The Dark Ones.

Their Dark One was actually a warlock in a tailored suit that oversaw the actions of the Dark covens in this part of New England. He wasn't some mythical being, written about in books younger than some family grimoires, it was just a title. 

He also happened to be Suga’s father.

Suga just so happened to have been born into a Dark Coven, the son of a Dark One, tailored to be a Dark One, but he was far from _evil._

None of his housemates were evil, and Suga was pretty sure none of them had an evil bone in their bodies. Well, maybe Oikawa had one, but it would be his pinky finger bone or perhaps the small bone in his ear, but he _never_ saw witchcraft as evil, and never will. 

They were just balancing out the earth. Every flood, ruined crop, broken tree, thunderstorm, day of bad luck, and moment of loss was justified through previous Lightness, or followed by it. It was just the earth's balance, and it was a delicate and fickle thing.

Suga blows out the candles, taking one of them out and licking the icing off the bottom as Kuroo takes the one out of Oikawa’s hand and licks it clean. Oikawa throws his hands up in anger, plucking another candle out. Bokuto plucks it right back, and Oikawa shoots him a glare.

"So," Kuroo takes the last candle out of the cake before Oikawa can reach for it, cleaning the stick with an audible smack of his lips. "What path are you looking at?"

Suga sits for a moment, thinking. There were so many choices, and most of them were constricting in ability. He could be a conjuror like Oikawa, but that means his herbalism and potion-making would be weakened. He could be a summoner like Bokuto, but he wasn’t as much of an extrovert as Bokuto was, and demons kind of scared him.

"I'm thinking about spell casting, like you," Suga looks up at Kuroo as he cuts into the cake. “Maybe herbalism or potions, something that can be well hidden in normal society.”

"Well, you'll have a good teacher then." Kuroo smiles, eyes borderline teary, serving everyone a slice, sucking icing off his thumb.

"Not conjuring?” Oikawa pouts. “You can conjure so many things, though! Like flames from your fingers for lighting cakes, or spirits to help you mess with the teenagers that keep parking in your parking space outside of work." 

Kuroo looks at Oikawa with a concerned look as Oikawa “elegantly” shovels cake into his mouth.

"Are you...?" Kuroo’s voice goes low, and Bokuto shivers next to him.

"What?” He speaks through the cake, defensively turning his back. “I can't have a randomly super specific example without getting interrogated? What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?"

Everyone sits in silence for a bit, Kuroo staring down Oikawa.

Oikawa may be the oldest, and therefore the unofficial leader, but Kuroo was much better at the job. You’d never believe that Kuroo was the third youngest in their branch, or that Suga was the youngest. It made sense for them to be natural leaders, though, as Kuroo, like Suga, was born and raised to be a warlock. Oikawa and Bokuto only learned of their heritage after too many weird instances piled up, and The Dark Ones had to step in before they ended up hurting themselves and the people around them.

They weren’t the best at magic, but they were all powerful, and Suga’s dad was dead set on giving him a strong branch family to lead. He gave him the deed to his childhood house, and at age twenty, a full year ago today, everyone showed up on his doorstep, Oikawa a month away from coming into his full powers.

It’s the nicest thing his dad’s ever done for him.

"It's just a few nightmares, okay?” Oikawa shrugs, giving in to the dull spark in Kuroo’s eyes, threatening a truth spell. “They'll be fine. Probably."

"Why don't you just leave earlier so you can get the parking space before school gets out?" Suga points out, cringing as his teeth scrape against the fork.

"Because then they'll win," Oikawa huffs. "I will not admit defeat to a teenager."

"Why don't you just enchant the parking space?" Bokuto rests his head on his hand, blinking slowly, Suga doing the same. He was tired. He worked a full shift and then converted to a coven, so he was more than ready for bed. “Make it invisible. That’s what I would do.”

"What do you mean?" Oikawa furrows his brow. “I can do that?”

"Yeah," Kuroo scratches his chin. "A simple glamor spell where mortals overlook it unless they know what to look for. Might not work since everyone’s always looking for parking all the damn time. I just walk to town, now, it’s not too bad.”

"I'm not good at enchantments," Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest, a giddy smile spreading across his lips. "I can get Bokuto to summon a demon to guard the spot. That'll be fun."

"Don't you dare." 

“Hell yeah!” Kuroo and Bokuto speak in unison, looking at each other, Bokuto shying away under his glare.

That’s his way of saying “there better not be a fucking demon outside Nishinoya’s shop in the morning”. Joke’s on him, Nishinoya would probably love it.

"I'm not _actually_ going to, Tetsu-chan," Oikawa rolls his eyes. "Let me joke."

"I never know when you're joking or not! Remember when you conjured a doppelgänger to work a shift for you so you could go on a date with Iwaizumi? I don't trust you."

"Come on, Tetsu-chan, live a little. You have magic, why not have some fun with it?" He wiggles his eyebrows. “I know some pretty fun seduction charms if you need a little help.”

That’s what tilts the scales, and Suga narrowly dodges a rogue charm that flies over his head.

Oikawa and Kuroo start to argue over practical vs mischief magic, Bokuto, ever the peacemaker, trying to make cases for both to ease the argument, clearly in favor of mischief magic but not wanting to go against Kuroo. Oikawa’s charm hits him and his hair turns bright blue, which is enough to get everyone to laugh so hard they forget what they were even fighting about.

This is how conversations about magic usually went. Kuroo wanted to use magic only when necessary, only for coven related activities, to practice and get better at magic. Or using it around the house to help clean dishes, do laundry, or just help make everyday life run a little smoother so that he could work hard through his seemingly mortal life.

Oikawa held the same ideals, but he wanted to use magic in every aspect of his life. Suga needed three hands to count how many times Oikawa’s gotten in trouble for nearly exposing witchcraft to the town, his boyfriend Iwaizumi fortunately being the only outsider to know about them. The town quickly learned that Oikawa was more a little weird, and with everything he manages to get away with, it’s a fair judgement. 

It didn't help that the main branch of the New England Coven encouraged him to become a conjurer. It was the one of the most untamed practices that was still accepted by the coven, and upon his first meeting with The Dark One, he was told he could master it. Oikawa may be a wildcard, but he knows what he’s doing, and he’s powerful enough to do it well. 

Suga knew nothing about what he was good at, even after years of cramming witchcraft politics and spells he overheard his father using. It was never about the magic itself, no, his father knew that Suga would grow up to be a powerful heir to the family, which meant he needed training in other things, like history, political theories, socialization. All he succeeded in doing was making Suga good at remembering dates and names and faces, his magic on par with people like Oikawa and Bokuto who didn’t know they had magic until it started hurting others.

He could grow herbs, but the more complicated herbs took too much time to grow and were too needy, and even though he had the patience, he never had the urge. He could make simple potions, but the more complicated ones would putrefy before he had the chance to recover them. Spellcasting seems like a safe bet, and he feels better knowing his teacher is in the same house as him. He also feels better knowing it was Kuroo teaching him and not Bokuto, since he was sure Bokuto’s teachings would probably involve getting into more trouble than he would with Oikawa.

And that’s saying something.

"Well, I have work tomorrow, so you get to escape my conjuring lessons, for now. You can spend all day with your new teacher," Oikawa stands up, ruffling Suga’s hair. "Happy Birthday, Suga-chan, good to have you officially part of the family." He waves goodnight, the kitchen door shutting behind him.

It doesn’t take long for Bokuto to excuse himself to go work on his assignments, attending the same online school Suga does while working for one of the local bakers. It leaves him and Kuroo alone, which is a comfortable silence. The true calm after a storm.

"You look tired,” Kuroo waves his hand, plates delicately flying over to the sink. “You should get some sleep, too, Suga. We can start training in the morning."

"You sure?" Suga stifles a yawn.

"Yes."

"No, I meant... are you sure we can start tomorrow? Don't I have to claim a path in front of the coven to have it be recognized before I start my real training?"

"A little practice doesn't hurt." Kuroo smiles, picking up the remainder of the cake and putting it into the fridge. "We can start with easy ones, like levitation."

"I already know that one." Suga’s once-excited mouth turns into a frown. "You forget I’ve grown up around all of this. I've been casting simple spells since before you converted."

It was kind of rude to say, knowing that Kuroo was another born-and-raised heir to his own bloodline. Then again, Suga _was_ his father’s son, and that meant that even though Suga tried his damnedest not to discriminate, a slight disdain for weaker bloodlines managed to slip through. 

“I’m sorry,” He purses his lips. “I didn’t mean to say it like tha-”

"Do they always work out?" Kuroo ignores him and raises an eyebrow, effectively shutting Suga up. "Usually for warlocks that haven't spilled blood over the grimoire can't do them with full certainty."

Suga’s thankful that Kuroo’s so forgiving. It’s his upbringing that’s speaking, not him. Suga tries his best to be kind, and most of the time it works, but other times, memories of his father ranting about the “damn half-bloods” over cauldron calls to other high officials float through his mind.

"I mean, I've had a few stray spells, but I think I might be ready for something bigger." Suga tries again.

Kuroo taps his chin in thought, then holds his hands up in defeat.

"Why not? I'll look through my grimoire tonight and try to find something fun."

Suga smiles.

"Thank you, Kuroo, really."

"You're welcome,” He nods towards the kitchen door. “Now go to bed. You worked hard today, and you'll need the rest even more for tomorrow."

Suga nods and heads off to take a shower, covering his ears as he passes by Oikawa’s room, who’s always either on an uncomfortably suggestive call with Iwaizumi (who is one of the most uncomfortable with it) or blasting music at ungodly hours. Bokuto’s listening to his laptop read his lectures out to him, suddenly belting out a bunch of random letters in an attempt to read a link.

Suga stands in the water of his shared bathroom with Bokuto, letting the stream hit his face, steam curling up around his head. The bottom of the shower is slick with detergent, and he curses Bokuto and his damn suit.

_"You know the path to take, Koushi."_

Suga’s eyes snap open, which wasn't the best idea, since he instantly got hit in the eye with a jet of water, looking around with his free eye. That voice... it wasn't coming from the bathroom. No. It was coming from everywhere at once, and it wasn't any of his housemates, either.

"Hello?" Suga calls out, peeking out from behind the shower curtain. He swallows hard, commanding a presence. "Reveal yourself."

Suga looks around, but nothing arises, only steam rolling out from behind the curtain. His fingers start to shake as he drops the curtain, trying to return to his shower, but after the half-done job of shampooing his hair, he just wanted to get out as soon as possible.

Voices weren't normal to hear, for mortals and magicfolk alike. It could be telepathy, but who would be speaking to him? Who would be strong enough to create a link with someone they didn't know?

“You okay in there, Suga?” Bokuto calls out from his room. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry, thought someone was… calling for me…” 

He trails off at the end, furrowing his brow. He gives the room another once over, making sure there’s no hidden objects meant to prank him. If Bokuto didn’t hear it, maybe he’s in on it. Yeah, that’s it, just an enchanted prank. Oikawa’s probably laughing about it in his room, telling Iwaizumi all about how smart he is. Poor Iwaizumi, it’s almost four in the morning, and the bookstore opens at nine.

He takes a shaky breath and steps out of the shower, his feet hitting the cold tile floor. He quickly dries off and gets half dressed, looking at himself in the mirror. His left collarbone, right above his heart, now has a mark. The sign of the Dark, a black pentagram. To the untrained eye, it looks like a normal tattoo, but with his personality, it was certainly something to hide and be mindful of. Explaining a pentagram tattoo to a small town? Not a good idea.

He runs his fingers over it, his fingertips tingling at the touch.

_You can always choose-_

Suga jerks his fingers away from the mark and frowns at the static in his head, catching a glimpse of fear in his eye. No, why would he even think about that word? That evil word? He shakes the thought from his head, drying off his hair.

“Oikawa, can you please turn off the music? Don’t you have work tomorrow?” He walks down the hall. 

“We both do,” Iwaizumi’s tired voice speaks up from Oikawa’s phone, Oikawa making one of his faces.

“Iwa-chan, how dare you not take my side.”

“Sleep.”

“I can give you a potion to help with that.”

“I can too,” Iwaizumi yawns. “It’s called coffee, which I’m going to need a lot of. I’m going to bed, babe, I love you, but please, _please_ don’t call me back. Oh, and, happy birthday, Suga.”

The call ends, and Oikawa throws a pillow at the door as Suga gives a small wave, accusing him of stealing “his Iwa-chan” from him for the night. It’s for the best. Probably.

Suga gets ready for bed, but he can’t shake the feeling of the whisper from his mind, or the chill the thought of forbidden evil gave him. He can't believe he would even think of such a thing, the mere thought making him feel like he needs another shower or two.

But then again, the mere thought dances across his mind up until the moment he falls asleep.

-

Kuroo wakes him up after what seems like only a few seconds, but the sun is high in the sky, and everything is overly bright. It’s probably afternoon, and the house is quiet, meaning Bokuto is at work with Iwaizumi and Oikawa is most likely bothering his coworkers and customers.

It’s tough covering costs for a house as big as the one they live in, not to mention the costs of feeding four college-age men, fees for the coven, random bills that pop up, college tuition, and the cost of running a small business.

Everyone worked, went to school, was already graduated, or both, all to bring in an equal something for the four of them. To seem normal. 

Suga worked at Tanaka’s diner, mostly on weekends and weeknights, doing online classes during the day. Bokuto worked part-time at the local bakery with a man named Tendou, who Suga is surprised _isn’t_ a demon, and attends classes when he has free time. Oikawa’s found himself working full time at a local café, enchanting the coffee to be just a little too bitter, or maybe a little too hot for a little too long, or perhaps it’ll drip on your nice new shirt just before work or school. Little acts of mischief. Kuroo, having graduated from college early, owns his own bath products business, utilizing spells and charms and herbalism for profit, but hey, there’s nothing in the coven rules against magic bar soap.

"Time for spellcasting class, Suga-san," Kuroo hums as pulls the curtains open, hesitating, his face twisting in confusion. "There’s a moving truck and people outside."

Suga rubs his eyes, yawning. 

"Yeah," He gestures vaguely outside, squinting. "Sold sticker on the sign. Saw it last night." He pulls the covers over his head.

“Huh, I should really leave the house more.”

Kuroo watches the neighbors move in. It looks to be like three young men, considering the number of different names written on the sides of boxes. One of them has the name “Asahi” crossed out and in big block letters it reads “Jesus’s room”. One of them looks up at the window before heading inside, and Kuroo quickly closes the curtains, turning his attention to Suga.

The neighbors never lasted long, not in Suga’s entire span of existence. Things were either too strange, or the town was too paranoid, or the man next door was part of a cult. Nothing too far off of reality, but far enough out there for every occupant to leave within a year or two.

“I give them eight months, max.”

“Eh, I give ‘em six.” Kuroo pulls the covers off of Suga, clicking his tongue. "Now get up. I am going to teach you how to shadow travel."

"Umbramancy?" Suga peeks out from the covers, sitting up straight. "Isn't that a little advanced? Can you even do that?"

"I can move small shadows half of the time, yes. But we can both practice it, then, hm?"

Suga looks at him in sheer disbelief.

"You're starting me on umbramancy. Day one."

"You said you wanted advanced training, certainly if you’ve been doing simple spells all your life, this should be easy,” Kuroo’s smile says ‘eat shit’, and Suga deserves it. Damn classist upbringing. “Take the umbramancy and the risks that come with it, or we can start with levitation like I wanted."

Suga groans, laying flat on his back.

"Fine. Levitation it is."

"Good," Kuroo smiles, the act sending a shiver down Suga’s spine. "Why don’t we give our new neighbors a _proper_ welcome to Claremont? You can start by levitating something off the moving truck. Small mischief. Just make them think they misplaced something."

"You just want to get them out in six months to say you were right.” Suga mumbles, checking his phone, clearing out messages, most of them just being notifications from the school.

"We are Dark, Suga,” Suga shivers as he puts his phone back on his nightstand, Kuroo sounding exactly like his own father. It leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. “And it is small actions that we need to keep day to day. Make the mortals believe that they are just experiencing bad luck. It will balance out some of the unregistered miracles the Light has been doing recently. If we do not do constant small mischief, then we will need to counteract with something bigger."

He gives Suga a dark side-eye, peering out of the window.

"And we don't want to do that, now, do we?"

Suga huffs and gets up, his pajama pants dragging across the floor. It was petty, sure, but it needed to be done, and it was better than the alternative that most coven branches do. The four of them had sworn on day one to find a better way, which ended up being frequent, and he does mean _frequent_ , small acts of inconvenience. 

He peers out from behind the curtain, looking for an object to misplace, and finds a tattered stuffed cat sitting on top of a stack of boxes.

“Why does it say ‘Jesus’s room’?” Suga mumbles.

"Find an item?" Kuroo leans up against the wall.

"Yeah."

"Point at it and say sursum."

"That's it?" Suga scrunches up his nose. He’s heard that word so many times, but to just point and say it? That’s all there was to a levitation spell?

"Well, levitate it to somewhere. Just so that they think it has been misplaced."

"There's no exchange? No chant? Just point and say a word? That’s what I was so excited to do when I saw my dad lifting heavy objects?"

"Suga, before converting, you could only half enchant things with mediocre results. If you can lift an object from this far away, I'd say you learned something that you couldn't do before, and that’s something to be excited about."

Suga scoffs, but looks at the object, points at it, and says the spell. The stuffed cat twitches, the lanky thirty-something year old outside not noticing, his back turned to it. He flicks his wrist, and the toy goes straight into a mud puddle. The man turns around and looks down, yelping and quickly grabbing the stuffed cat.

"Aw man!" He exclaims, the voice audible despite coming from the street. 

"What's wrong, Asahi?" A man exits the house, leaning in the doorway.

"Neko-chan fell off the box," Suga can hear the disappointment in his voice. "It's going to take forever to clean him up."

"I'm sure we can just stick him in the sink. Go wash him before he stains, Daichi and I'll get the rest."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go on inside, clean up Neko-chan."

Suga closes the curtains before he can see the third man exit the house, turning to look at Kuroo's wide smile.

"What?"

"I am so proud of you!" He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. "Halway into your birthday and you've already been an inconvenience to mortals, ruining their childhood memories," He pats Suga on the back. "Now go study, you have your exams coming up and if you fail any of them I will sursum your ass into the river."

His eyes tell no lies, flickering with anticipation. Kuroo blows Suga a kiss and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Happy Birthday!"


	3. People Are Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully all chapters will be this length or longer from now on!

“So,” Iwaizumi starts, looking down at his coffee with a big frown. Bokuto sits with his arms crossed, cocking his head to prompt a question. “Let me get this straight. Three days have passed since his birthday, and now Satan’s coming to visit?”

Bokuto tilts his head back, letting out a rather obnoxious laugh that rumbles through his chest, a few heads turning despite the quiet question. He catches his breath, covers his mouth, and looks at Iwaizumi again, letting out an airy wheeze. Oikawa comes over with a refill, side-eyeing Bokuto. Bokuto grabs Oikawa’s sleeve.

“Oiks, Oiks, guess what your boyfriend just said.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “He just called The Dark One _Satan_.”

Oikawa half-gasps, half-laughs, playfully scratching Iwaizumi’s head with his nails.

“No! Iwa-chan!” He whines. “We’ve been over this! It’s just a title.”

“You never talk about this to me. For all I know my boyfriend is a devil worshipper hellbent on world destruction.” He grumbles, hoping no one hears, and he doesn’t actually mean it. Oikawa knows this, and so does Bokuto.

“Oh hush,” Oikawa wraps him into a hug, shooting Bokuto a glare. “Why are you here? It’s eight, aren’t you supposed to be helping Tetsu-chan set up the cauldron for the call?”

“You have a cauldron?” Iwaizumi asks as he spills coffee on his shirt. “Dammit! How is it that whenever I drink coffee that you’ve made, it ends up on my shirt?”

Oikawa just gives him a sheepish look, Bokuto giving Oikawa a knowing one. Another small act, completed.

“I am avoiding him, yes,” Bokuto nods.

“Fair enough. But you’ll have hell to pay for it. You better just show up late, after he’s halfway done with it.”

“What’s the call about?” Iwaizumi asks, carefully drinking his night coffee.

Bokuto and Oikawa look at him like he’s just stepped on a puppy.

“Okay, right, secret coven things. I get it.”

Bokuto treads carefully.

“We all have to perform certain tasks. Prove our allegiance.”

It’s a vague answer, sure, but it’s the most he can give out. Tasks were treated as sacred, and even among witches it was considered bad etiquette to ask anyone you weren’t close to what their task had been. They only knew of each other’s tasks, and that went beyond being housemates that were listening in, but it was crucial to bond with your coven family by sharing your tasks.

Tasks were meant to be a judge of character, or a way to test magical skill, or perhaps even a way to encourage pathways. 

Oikawa, being a mortal-raised, had to be assessed in all three, but it still had to be simplified since he had no family grimoire to use for research. They severely underestimated his resolve, though, and his determination to pass the tests with flying colors, and soon, his grimoire was full of his own handwriting, with every spell, hex, charm, curse, potion, and (this was a short section, but a section nonetheless) plant he could find in the coven’s library. He was given the task to curse a man two towns over who had wronged the coven, and curse him he did.

The man’s entire bloodline is now unable to bear children, whether it be through birth defects or… other unfortunate accidents. No one left in the bloodline to wrong the family, and only _minimal_ damage done to mortals. 

Bokuto had to be tested for skill, as his allegiance went without much to prove, his sense of loyalty to his housemates speaking volumes to the coven. His task had been a simple research one, his great-uncle’s grimoire passed down, and he was to find a spell he could do well, and then create a new branch spell from it. No one had expected Bokuto to choose the hardest spell in the book, and not only master it but create a spell that amplified its power, one of Bokuto’s first real summoning attempts bringing forth a B-rank demon. Needless to say, he passed with full marks.

Kuroo, having been raised a warlock, needed not be tested specifically in anything, and his task was more of a show of strength for his bloodline. It was rather simple, really, he had to show his knowledge of multiple areas of magic, and he chose to create a spell that would aid in potion-making, the new potion resulting in charm amplification for the drinker. It’s a recipe that the New England Coven now holds close to their chests.

With Suga, there was no telling what his father might tell him to do. It’ll most likely be another test of just how skillful he is, how well he can show off how great of a teacher his father is. Just a trophy of his father’s parenting skills.

They knew one thing for sure; even if they couldn’t help him directly, they would be with him every step of the way. 

“Well, whatever it is, I wish him good luck.” Iwaizumi holds a tip up for Oikawa, Oikawa leaning to let Iwaizumi put it in his waistband. Iwaizumi sighs and shoves it into Oikawa’s hands. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me.” Oikawa winks, putting the tip in his tip jar, which is full of spare change and isn’t nearly as much as he should be getting paid for what he does. 

He still has more than Hanamaki and Yahaba’s tip jars, though, which is probably infuriating to the two of them. Iwaizumi opens his mouth, but a loud thunk on the streetview window interrupts him, a mass of white dropping to the floor. Oikawa rushes over and the dove flaps, looks up at his eyes, and squawks hoarsely before awkwardly flapping away.

Oikawa turns to face Bokuto with wide eyes.

“That can’t be good.” Bokuto mumbles, standing up, rushing over to Oikawa, who is inspecting the blood on the window. 

Hail The Dark Ones that there aren’t many people in the shop.

“Was that a dove?” Bokuto asks in a hushed whisper. “Or a white pigeon?”

It’s the same thing, but that isn’t important. What is important is how the bird of peace, the symbol of the Light, has just willingly injured itself on a window near two dark warlocks. Neither of them have been great at divination, but even mortals could tell that this is a sign.

“It squawked at me,” Oikawa points to the blood. “That’s not good, is it?”

“Hell if I know,” Bokuto shakes his head. “I should probably go help Kuroo set up.”

Oikawa nods, worriedly covering his mouth as he gets a towel and some cleaner to wipe off the blood, Bokuto’s phone ringing. Kuroo. He answers.

“I’m on my way-”

“Hey, uh, yeah I knew you were going to blow me off, but, um, weird question, might just be me being paranoid, but,” He pauses, and Bokuto can hear him lick his lips. “Have you seen a dove?”

Bokuto’s heart sinks, and he looks at Oikawa, who’s obviously listening in. He looks around the street, hoping no one is listening. He lowers his voice.

“Oikawa’s cleaning the blood off the window right now.” 

“I am, too,” Kuroo answers. “Do you think…”

“Depends on what you think?”

Kuroo’s silent, most likely pursing his lips.

“Best get home, The Dark One should be arriving soon. I’ll try to get Suga home soon, too.”

“Will do,” Bokuto frowns, hanging up. “Oikawa, what do you think it means?”

Oikawa looks down at the traces of blood in the towel, frowning. He doesn’t bring his eyes up to meet Bokuto’s, his gaze never leaving the crimson in his hands. Dread starts to build up in Bokuto’s stomach. He already knows the answer.

“I think Suga’s going to have a much more difficult time with his task.”

Oikawa heads inside to beg to leave early, and the two of them start hurrying home.

-

Suga wipes down the counter, Tanaka sitting next to him, propping his head up on his elbows as Suga cleans around him, trying to do his end-of-shift cleaning as soon as possible. 

“Freaking crazy birds,” Tanaka huffs. 

“Yeah,” Suga agrees, biting his lip. He needs to get home. “Tanaka, can I please go home now?”

“Why? Was the camping trip not enough?”

“We had drinks,” Suga defends, looking at the time. “But this is important.”

“It always is.”

Suga hesitates.

“My dad’s coming to visit.”

That’s all Suga has to say to get Tanaka’s attention, Tanaka whipping around on his stool to face Suga, eyes narrowed. It’s not a total lie, but it’s sure to get a reaction. 

“And you _want_ to go home?”

“I have to.” Suga vigorously wipes down the same spot. 

The dove crashing into the diner window was more than enough to put him on edge. Doves hanging around Darkness was never a good sign, but for one to fly into the diner window? It sends chills up his spine.

“Okay, fine, you’re going to tear your arm off if you clean like that for much longer. I was thinking about closing up anyways, Tuesdays are always slow.”

He gestures around the empty diner.

“Besides, it’s not like you’ll be the only person I can rely on anymore.”

Suga stops taking off his apron and looks at Tanaka.

“What do you mean?”

"I have an interview tomorrow for a new server around five, so it's fine."

"New server?" Suga finishes shoving his apron into his bag, his brow furrowed. "We're getting a new server?"

"Maybe. It's so we can handle you running off to do house traditions," He playfully flicks Suga’s ear.

"Ow!" Suga recoils, laughing. "What the hell, man?"

"Go on, get out of here. Take the rest of the chocolate turtle pie with you for your friends that you never let me meet, I’m sure they’ll eat it in record time. See you at ten tomorrow."

“You’re the best, you know that, right?”

“I do.”

He wraps the almost full pie in foil and looks around the back room before pointing his finger at the pie.

_"Parvus."_

The pie shrinks into about one inch in diameter, and Suga is able to slip it into his bag, hoping that nothing melts while he tries to transport it home. He grabs his keys, waves goodbye to Tanaka, and gets his bike from outside. He rides home with the speed nearly that of a car, hoping no one would see him speeding down the street without pedaling.

Doves. Why did it have to be doves? Is the Light coming nearer? That’s the last thing he wants, to deal with a member of The Faction of the Light. Pompous jerks, all of them, set not on doing “good” deeds, but for eliminating all forces of Darkness. 

They were worse than witch hunters, because at least witch hunters were mortals.

As he reaches his house, he slams on the breaks, gasping as he sees the fast approaching figure of a muscular man take the trash down to the end of his driveway. Of course, his new neighbors. What great timing to be using magic on his bike.

His tires skid and he topples over, thrown off of his bike into the grass in front of the now occupied house. His bike crashes into his own mailbox, digging it slightly out of its hole, the stick leaning to the right.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" The man drops the trash bag into a cardboard box, running over to him. "Ah jeez, your arm looks all scraped up."

Suga looks up and meets a pair of very worried looking dark eyes, a furrowed brow, and a very muscular frame. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d probably be drooling.

“Hi,” He whispers, unable to say anything else.

The man's front door swings open, another man appearing in the doorway.

"Daichi! Everything okay?"

The man, Daichi, looks back at the house.

"This guy just crashed! Hey, you okay?" He turns her attention back to Suga.

"Bring him inside, Suga, I can practice making splints!" The man, who Suga might have thought was a woman if he didn’t have a goatee and was built like a giant, steps aside.

"It's fine," Suga sits up, pointing. "I just live next door."

"Oh, so you're the one that lives in that house?" Daichi looks at the house at the end of the street, the grey, giant, three story almost-mansion that borders the woods. The curtains on the first floor move, just like they had a few days ago when he had been moving in.

"Creepy." He mutters, probably not aware he's said it aloud.

Daichi helps Suga stand up, Suga’s leg crumpling under the weight of his body, causing him to cry out in pain. Daichi doesn’t waver, his arms wrapping around Suga, an overwhelming sense of warmth coming off of his body. Suga can’t help but lean into it, wincing at the burn shooting up his leg. The man with long hair starts making his way to the pair.

"Okay, here, I'm starting out to become a registered nurse this week, let me treat you, you look like you’re about to pass out."

"There's no need, he's fine," Kuroo yells as comes running out of the house, trying to look as friendly as he can while wearing an all black and purple outfit to appease The Dark One. Manbun looks at him, frowning.

"He needs medical attention, he might have a broken bone."

 _”Hellangsa,”_ Kuroo begins under his breath, his eyes turning gold. Suga screams out at the sudden burst of pain. “Nope, he’s fine, we should be going now, his dad is actually visiting and we can’t keep dear ol’ dad waiting, can we, Suga?”

Manbun is relentless, especially after the scream, and pulls Suga’s pants leg up. Sure enough, the wound is already starting to heal, Kuroo having used a slow-working spell that has a severe initial fire, and then aids in the sterilization of the wound as the body naturally heals.

"Hm,” Manbun furrows his brow. “Well, you don't look severely injured, the screams may have been from shock, and you're still bleeding. Just wait here, I'll go get a bandage."

The man stands up and runs into the house, Daichi scratching his neck as he passes Suga off to Kuroo. He gives a small smile, trying to seem friendly. Kuroo’s anxious frown isn’t doing much to ease the tension.

"Sorry about that, Asahi is a little nervous for his first day of residency tomorrow. Let him practice," Daichi reaches his hand out. "My name is Daichi, sorry we're meeting like this, and that we're keeping you from such an important visit."

Kuroo reluctantly shakes it, Suga carefully shaking, finding a new wound on his hand. Daichi’s hand is soft, warm. It makes Suga’s hand tingle, and he _almost_ forgets why he was speeding home in the first place.

"I'm Kuroo and the clumsy one is Sugawara," He smiles impatiently. Daichi probably can’t tell the difference.

Daichi glances back at their house, the curtains rustling nervously, two faces watching. He shivers. Suga doesn’t blame him, his house has always scared people away, all of his few friends from school like Nishinoya and Tanaka refusing to come hang out at his house.

He’s begun to think there’s a charm on the house to repel nosy mortals, and he’s also beginning to think he’s right. 

"Is there someone else that lives with you? I keep seeing the curtains move. Must not be too friendly."

It’s the first time anyone’s ever assumed Bokuto and Oikawa are unfriendly. To be honest, no one in the house was _really_ antisocial, but being in a coven does tend to deter you away from a normal social life. Kuroo was most likely the one that most of the neighbors and the town felt the least comfortable around, but he worked from home, and things just never worked out.

"Yeah," Kuroo vaguely dismisses, and Asahi returns, wrapping Suga’s leg and helping him stand up straight. 

"Thank you, really," Suga leans on Kuroo. “For taking care of this for me.”

Kuroo starts making motions to go back to the house.

"If you'll excuse us, we _really_ have to get going back inside, can’t keep The D- dad, your dad, waiting," Kuroo quickly ushers Suga into the house, locking the door behind them, looking out of the peephole.

"What is up with you?" Suga pulls the small pie out of his bag, frowning at how crushed it's gotten. 

Kuroo’s eyes glow golden again and Suga can feel a wave of health wash over him. His leg stops throbbing, and his hand scrape clears up. He looks through the peephole, watching Daichi and Asahi talk as they watch the house.

"Come on, I wasn’t lying when I said your dad was already here, go put on your robe."

Suga quickly puts on a black and purple robe that his father had sent him, an initiation robe, long and black with purple trim along the bottom and the sleeves. If anyone saw him in it, there would be no doubt he was involved in something shady.

Kuroo pushes him into the living room, a purple and blue fire erupting from the cauldron in the middle of the room. Oikawa and Bokuto are both in their black and purple clothing, as per tradition. It didn’t fit any of their aesthetics, but maybe it was better that it didn’t. It made the colors that much more ceremonial.

An image starts to flicker in the flames, and the image of Suga’s father starts to emerge, hazy and shimmering like one of the holographic cards Tanaka and Nishinoya had traded as kids. The four warlocks bow their heads out of respect, disdain bubbling up in the back of Suga’s throat. 

“Ah, _Koushi,”_ His father’s voice is fondly cold, causing Suga to grimace into the bow. “How long it has been. You have grown so much, my heir.”

_Heir._

Never son. Heir. Like he was just a trophy of the bloodline, which he probably was. Just someone to continue the line, someone to force his magic on. Suga pushes back the bitter thought and raises his head now that he’s been addressed, everyone’s heads remaining firmly pressed down.

“You look just like your mother,” He looks over Suga’s features as if they would have changed in the three years he’s been gone. “What a strong witch you’ll become.”

The words witch and warlock were nearly interchangeable, despite what many thought, discretion of the word up to the magic user in question. Gender and sexuality were fluid by nature, and therefore, so was everything tied to it, labels not bound by one gender, and love not confined to one identity. In the eyes of the world, everyone was born equal, and they would die equal.

Balance.

“Do you accept the notion of completing a task to prove your loyalty to The Faction?”

It’s not a question. Suga doesn’t mind. He may not get along with his father, but he’s never once wanted to be anything other than a witch. 

"I devote my time and body,” He recites.

"What a great thing to hear, Koushi. How proud you make me. So proud, in fact, that I have chosen to pass down the Sugawara tradition, to give you the very task that I performed, the task your grandmother performed, and everyone before her. I know you will not disappoint."

Suga swallows hard, careful not to waver in the presence of someone so powerful. His father’s more powerful than he had been when he was growing up. The power of a Dark One permeates through the room like a thick fog.

"I will proudly accept any task given to me," Suga meets his father’s eyes, his own staring back at him. 

But they’re cold. Lifeless. _Dark._

"Your task," He produces a photo from his jacket pocket, the photo turning to smoke in his hands without him saying a spell, the smoke traveling to Suga’s hand, reforming as a photo.

He stares in wonder. He would never be able to use smoke teleportation without advanced training and years of practice, let alone use it without a spell. The photo fully appears into his hand, revealing that of a young man he's seen around town. Haru, was it? An older man who moved into one of the old rental houses on the river earlier this summer.

"This man is a suspected witch hunter, I’m afraid,” His father clicks his tongue. “Shame, really, that people still see us as threats. Pitiful humans that dare get in the way of seeking balance,” Smoke curls off of the photo, wrapping itself around Suga’s skin. “He took out a whole coven of Light witches, and your safety is not guaranteed. You know the Light children, how set they are on ridding this world of evil, unable to accept that we are their counters.”

He sighs, exasperated. He just loves to rant about the Light children wanting them dead for being “evil” versions of themselves. What makes Suga angrier is that he wholeheartedly agrees.

He doesn’t dare look up, the chill coming from the flames enough. What is this? Do recon? Curse him? Capture him and bring him back to The Dark Ones? 

"Kill him."

Suga looks up in shock, the image of his father unwavering in the flames. There’s some movement next to him as Kuroo freezes up, almost coming out of his bow. The air goes thin, almost as if the cauldron’s burned up all of the oxygen. 

“Bring us the metaphorical head of a witch hunter, unless you choose to behead him, which I wouldn’t discourage, and only then will you show your loyalty, Koushi. I remember making this sacrifice, it’s the utmost form of loyalty. You will kill or be killed for the coven,” His voice goes back to normal, Suga not having realized how low it was getting. “I have so graciously gifted you the family grimoire to aid you with your task. I hope you do not disappoint me.”

The flames extinguish themselves, the room eerily dark without the glow of the cauldron, which now rests cold and empty. He can feel three sets of eyes on him, but his gaze doesn’t leave the photo of the man. It’s strangely cold between his fingers, the photo staring back at him, as if it knows all his secrets. 

A witch hunter, huh?

“Suga…” Kuroo starts, but he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

A curse of infertility, a miraculous summon, a new spell. 

A murder.

Suga looks up at Kuroo, Kuroo’s face puckering as if he’s eaten a lemon. He says nothing, because there’s nothing that could be said. He’s gotten his task, and if he doesn’t want the bare minimum of having his powers and memories stripped from him, which at best leaves ex-witches insane, he would have to go through with it.

Not for his father, but for the coven.

Kill the witch hunter before he can kill Kuroo, Bokuto, or Oikawa. Before he can find other families, Light and Dark alike. The man who’s already in town, and most likely aware of the Dark activity, especially with a recent initiation.

 _”Adventus Sugawara grimoire,”_ Suga mutters, the thick old book clamoring down the main staircase, like someone falling down the hardwood. It makes a scraping sound, pitifully trying to hover over the floor and up to Suga’s hand. 

“You’re not actually going to kill a man, are you?” Oikawa blurts out.

Suga looks up at him, and he gets the same puckered look Kuroo wears.

“Your eyes are really scary, Suga. Like...” Bokuto whispers, his voice coarse, choosing not to finish his thought.

_Like your father._

“I have to. Not only is it my task, but he’s a witch hunter,” Suga’s voice shocks himself. It’s low, and it’s dangerous. He quickly takes his leave, walking into the dining room, his housemates following him.

He sets the grimoire down on the table and runs his finger along the spine, the book shivering at his touch. It opens, each book written and added to by his ancestors, a never-ending book of spells ranging from simple to complex, his entire family’s history held in its pages.

To anyone without the Sugawara bloodline, unless with specific permission, the pages would appear blank. He runs his fingers along the table of contents, frowning at the most recent entries. Spells his father made. The shortest chapter, but each spell complex in its own right.

“Suga…” Kuroo starts again, but one look from Suga shuts him up. Suga catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind Kuroo, his eyes widening, his face softening. They’d been glowing dark purple, a sure sign of raw, unstable power for his bloodline. 

Kuroo’s went red, Oikawa’s went blue, and Bokuto’s went grey. Nothing was scarier than purple, the color itself a murky mystery, the siren song that leads so many to their deaths. Suga takes a deep breath, and closes the grimoire.

“I’m fine,” He says, sweeping the grimoire off the table, shrugging off his robe. “I’m going to bed.”

“Suga, we should really talk about this,” Kuroo starts, Oikawa and Bokuto chiming in with agreement.

“We don’t need to talk about anything, Kuroo,” Suga snaps. “I just want to go to bed and then get this over with.”

He marches off towards his room, stopping halfway when Kuroo follows him.

“You’re not seriously going to kill him tomorrow, right? Suga, this is _murder._ I mean, hell, covens do this kind of shit all the time, but ours? We need to talk things through, we need to make a plan.”

Suga’s eyes go nearly black, rage boiling up in his mouth. Oikawa yelps as the dining table centerpiece flies across the foyer into the living room. 

“It’s my task,” He begins, holding back. “Do you want me to have my powers stripped? My father would have me killed if I don’t do this, you do understand that, right?”

The grimoire falls out of Suga’s hands and scoots its way upstairs, freeing Suga’s hands to clench into fists, his knuckles going white. The house starts to rattle, knocking dust free from the ceiling as the cabinets start to shake.

“I know, Suga, but we need to decide the best path to go _as a family,”_ He motions to Bokuto and Oikawa. “We can’t have you going to face an experienced witch hunter without any plan and less than a week’s worth of training!”

Suga huffs, and the house settles enough to creak.

“I’m tired, Kuroo. I’m going to bed, I’m going to wake up, and then and _only_ then can we start talking about this.”

Without another word, he storms up to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. He flops down face-first on his bed and screams into his pillow. Of course, of fucking course, this was going to be his task. He should have known that his father would never let him off so easily. 

He turns his head and looks at his open curtains, rolling out of bed to close them. He grips the fabric and stares out at the moon. What a calm night for something so wicked. A light in his lower peripheral turns on, and his eyes flicker to it, making eye contact with Daichi, whose room is diagonal to his. 

There’s enough space to give privacy to both houses, but they’re close enough to just barely tell that it’s him. Daichi notices, too, and gives a small, awkward wave, his hands reaching to pull the blinds. Suga returns the wave, and closes his curtains before he can embarrass him further. Hail The Dark Ones that he wasn’t in his robe. That would be a tough one to explain to the neighbors.

He sits down on his bed, the weight of everything hitting him at once. The anger, the bitter feeling, the omens, the sore leg, the anticipation of murder.

It’s not even the fact he’s morally against killing someone. It’s the fact he has to do it to appease his father.

All witch hunters are doomed to be killed by the very thing they hunt, and they know that, too. It’s more about how many they can take down before one gets to them. Suga glances at his grimoire, then looks back at the curtains. 

Not tonight, rest tonight, and plan tomorrow. Plan with Kuroo, and Bokuto, and Oikawa, tomorrow. Suga lays down on his back, too tired to care about a rogue voice whispering in his ear.

_You know what you have to do._

He closes his eyes, and he promptly falls asleep.

-

“Whoa, the neighbors are kinda loud,” Ennoshita puts his hands on his hips, standing on the back porch of their new house, Asahi leaning to look, craning his neck from the only chair they’ve managed to move outside. 

The yelling continues, but they can’t make the words out, the sounds of a summer night far too noisy to tell.

“We met two of them,” Asahi shrugs, turning the page of his book. “One of them is a little clumsy, fell off his bike out front.”

“Ouch,” Ennoshita scrunches up his face, stretching out on the porch. 

The yelling ceases for a second, and the back door opens, three figures moving outside. 

“Oh look, they cometh,” Ennoshita laughs.

“He’s being… and irrational, Testu-chan, he’s… we need to… to help him!” One of the men speaks, pointing his finger at another man, their voices just barely loud enough to make out.

“And you wouldn’t be after…” Another man says, frustration lacing his voice. He says something else, but it’s incoherent.

“Should we go inside?” Asahi shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t want to eavesdrop.”

A light turns on from the second story of the house, the image of a man standing in the window. He looks somewhere in their house, and gives a small wave before pulling his curtains closed.

“What was that all about?” Ennoshita half-laughs, turning to Asahi to see if he saw.

“Must be Daichi. The two kinda hit it off, you know, in that awkward Daichi way.”

“Which means love at first sight but he’ll never act on it?”

“Probably still thinks the neighbor is straight, poor thing.”

The pair laugh, and Ennoshita furrows his brow at a small spark of red that comes from the back porch of the neighbor house. Fireworks? It’s not even July yet. God these neighbors will end up being just as bad as his last ones, won't they? Nothing but college parties and late nights. Ennoshita can't blame them, he's a recent graduate himself. There’s a small blue glow, and another red spark. 

“Ow! Rude, Tetsu-chan!” The same whiny voice rings out. “You play dirty.”

“You kinda deserved... Oiks,” The third man speaks up. “This is Suga’s... we have to stand by him… even if it means what it does. That’s… means to be a family… ”

“But a… hunter… we can’t just not… maybe a tracking spe…”

Ennoshita narrows his eyes, ignoring the joke Asahi’s trying to make about Daichi’s past love life. Something about how he falls in love with people that only hurt him, but this time it was the man who got hurt. It's not a very good joke.

“Hey, what is everyone looking at?” Daichi steps out onto the porch, now dressed for bed, his voice a little louder than what Asahi and Ennoshita had been talking at.

As if on cue, the three heads from up on the hill turn to face them, like bats in a cave. One of them starts to usher the others inside, hissing about how "this is why we don't take things outside, Oikawa", and Ennoshita can see them turn into a mass of black and purple as they march back in.

He turns his attention to Daichi.

“I heard you met the neighbors.”

Daichi turns pink, a tell-tale sign.

“Oh come on, man,” Ennoshita smiles. “You can’t seriously be this whipped already.”

Asahi snorts.

“Dude literally came crashing into his life, and leaned into him all romantic-like when Daichi picked him up. Classic romance film.”

“That’s not!” Daichi stammers. “I was helping him up! He fell off his bike and I was being neighborly!”

“Is waving at him from your room neighborly?” Asahi teases.

“How did you?” Daichi makes his way to the edge of the porch and looks up at the window. Sure enough, you can see Suga’s room from the porch. “Well that’s going to make sitting out here awkward.”

Ennoshita puts a firm hand on his back, patting him.

“It’s okay, Dai."

"He's probably straight," Daichi groans. "All the cute guys are. All the cute girls are gay. I can't win." 

Ennoshita laughs, staring up at the house, shivering at the sight. 

"I’m sure that after your interview tomorrow, you’ll be so busy that he’ll forget all about how awkward you are.”

Daichi doesn’t even deny it. Instead, he smiles in the goofy, love-struck way that only he can, ears burning pink, eyes dreamy. Utterly head over heels, love at first sight, for what feels like the seventh time, all ended not by himself. The perfect hopeless romantic. He stares up at the moon, basking in the beautiful night.

“God, I hope so.”


	4. Summer Breeze

Bokuto is _great_ at magic, and has many great ideas.

Just don’t ask anyone else. Ask anyone else and they’ll tell you he needs more training, or that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or that it’s dangerous to try and summon a high ranking demon by himself in his room without consulting the family. But don’t get him wrong, this is a _great_ idea.

He cuts his palm, and lets a few fat drops bleed into the center of the freshly drawn summoning circle on his floor. He squeezes the 12-pack of multicolored Crayola sidewalk chalk in his other hand as he winces at the small tingling burn. A familiar wave of nausea hits him as the circle and runes light up in a soft amber glow, the blood immersing into the now-liquid hardwood.

He’s summoned many demons before. He would never admit it, but imps do most of the chores he’s supposed to be doing himself, but if Oikawa and Kuroo can cheat by charming the silverware to put itself away, then he can have minor demons do his laundry.

_Demons._

Not the kind many would think, but instead beings that feed on specific kinds of magic or other resources that the summoning witch can provide. They complete tasks, the witch gives them what they desire, which is usually leftover pastries from work or a bit of blood, and they go back to wherever demons come from. Kuroo always said something about demons coming from “chaos”, but the grim look on his face at the idea of chaos magic was enough to get Bokuto to not ask further questions. The birthplace of the kind of magic that’ll get you excommunicated if you try to perform.

Bokuto always assumed demons came from a mommy and a daddy demon, but Suga likes to remind him that demons are beings made of pure magic, and most of his imps are probably born the minute they’re summoned into his circle.

Unfortunately, that just solidifies the idea that Bokuto _is_ the daddy demon, and he needs to take care of his imp children. He’s never used blood to summon before, but he’s read that it’ll make the bond with whatever demon he does manage to summon even stronger, and he needs to practice blood summoning if he’s going to be of any help to Suga’s task. He’ll take care of this demon, too, just like all the others.

He watches as more blood enters the circle, and he pulls his hand back, clearing his throat, careful not to wake anyone up. His room and Suga’s room are connected by their shared bathroom, but the walls are pretty soundproof when the occupant wants them to be. Not that he’s ever exactly _needed_ soundproof walls, except when he’s summoning. 

Kuroo and Oikawa’s rooms are on the other side of the house, with many rooms in between. He never asked Suga why his childhood home had so many rooms despite it just being him and his dad, and for a short while before her death, his mom, but Suga just shrugged and said that there used to be bigger families in his lineage. 

He opens his mouth, his eyes reading off of the copied down notes from his grimoire.

_”Denizens of the Demon Realm, I call upon you to aid me, Koutarou Bokuto, Child of Night, in,” He licks his lips, trying to decide what the demon that answers his call should do for him. He quickly glances at his grimoire summoning notes, his uncle having written a few words that help with summoning demons for certain purposes. “A task of aiding in companionship.”_

That should work, right? Companionship is definitely the correct word to use when referring to friends. There’s no word that’s usually used for _friendship_ when summoning a demon, and he knows better than anyone that using the wrong word in a summoning circle can have unexpected consequences or negate the circle entirely. He allows himself some wiggle room, though, knowing that you have to say exactly what you want when dealing with demons. Or maybe that was genies, he can’t remember.

The circle lights up even more, and Bokuto squints as his room is bathed in a harsh amber glow. He closes his eyes until he’s sure they won’t melt out of his sockets, and when he opens them, the warmth fading from the air, he looks down at the very _naked_ man in the middle of the circle. He sits like a woman in a grecian painting, long legs draped over the floor in a way that hides everything that’s meant to be hidden, as if his entire existence is a tease.

Bokuto yelps, and takes a few steps back, the demon blinking up at him, its (his?) black eyes lowly gleaming. It, he, _the demon_ reaches a clawed hand out, not going past the circle’s limits, and Bokuto stumbles over his own feet to approach, unable to resist getting closer to the pretty face.

Imps weren’t pretty. Imps were little grey things that looked like reject gargoyles and made sounds like garbage disposals. This, this demon was _pretty_ , with dark hair and bright onyx eyes, with lashes that curled upwards and lips that flushed pink. Why is the demon naked? Even imps had some sort of cloth wrapped around their wrinkly bodies. Maybe that was for his own good, though, he’s never wanted to know what an imp looks like naked.

He offers his hand and the demon grabs it, pulling Bokuto closer, a longer-than-what-Bokuto-thinks-is-normal tongue flicking out and tasting the wound. The cut heals almost instantly, and the glow of the room fully dissipates, the demon eyeing Bokuto with hungry eyes. 

“Let me guess,” The demon begins, pulling Bokuto closer so that Bokuto is now just barely kneeling over, nearly whispering in his ear. “Just turned twenty-one, coven takes up too much time, and you’re just that desperate.”

“How did you know?” Bokuto whispers back. Wow, this demon already knew about how desperate he was to help Suga?

The demon recoils, batting its eyelashes.

“Why else would you summon an incubus?”

Bokuto staggers backwards so fast that he knocks the bookshelf off of his wall, everything falling with a huge clunk. Oh shit. That’s not good.

“Bokuto? You okay?” Kuroo sleepily calls out from down the hall.

“Y-Yeah,” He responds weakly.

The demon, _the incubus,_ gracefully gets to its feet and struts up to him, leaving nothing to the imagination as it corners him, eyes sparkling, tail flicking back and forth. It presses a finger to Bokuto’s lips, its other hand reaching for the chalk to free his hands.

“Listen,” Bokuto mumbles against his finger. “I didn’t want an incubus.”

“Well if you were a succubus kind of guy I wouldn’t be here,” The demon smiles, sharp fangs nearly glowing in the dark of the room. “It’s alright, _Koutarou_ , no one ever wants to admit that they’re this desperate, but no one ever regrets it,” The demon’s hand reaches for the hem of Bokuto’s shirt, his tongue clicking. “Gotta say, though, a sex demon for your first time? Might set your standards too high.”

Bokuto wheezes, and swats the demon away, flushing bright red. Curse the rule that you have to be pure in order for the initiation grimoire to accept your blood offering. He didn’t even know about the rule until he was seventeen, when The Dark Ones came to tell him about his heritage after an unfortunate accident involving a minor sleeping spell over his class. It was just a sad coincidence that Bokuto didn’t have to go through the cleansing rituals that Oikawa had to go through to return purity to his body, but with the pain Oikawa went through, he’s kind of glad no one had thought to date him. The demon’s eyes widen slightly at Bokuto’s defiance, and he tries again, pushing Bokuto onto the bed.

“No, stop that, really, I didn’t mean to summon you,” Bokuto groans, the demon’s hands simultaneously too cold and too hot on his skin.

“Well, that may be, but now that I’m here,” The demon licks its lips impatiently and Bokuto pushes it on the floor. “I bet you taste wonderful.”

“I said no, just, get back in the circle. I’m sending you back. Practicing my summoning is not worth this,” Bokuto covers his face, trying to ignore the awkward pull in his lower abdomen.

“But,” The demon insists, growing frantic, climbing on top of Bokuto’s lap, tail swishing happily behind it. “I can’t leave, babe. Your task for me was companionship, and I can’t leave until you give me an order and we have sex,” The demon grabs the waistband of Bokuto’s pajama pants for emphasis. “I tasted your blood, the contract has been signed.”

“Well,” Bokuto’s voice is weak, trying to look everywhere other than the demon in his lap, trying to feel anything other than the pressure building. “That sounds like a you problem. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to summon you, I’m trying to help a friend out and that’s what I meant by aiding in companionship.”

“You summoned an incubus for a friend?” The demon deadpans, sitting back. “Is he that desperate?”

“No!” Bokuto lets out a frustrated sigh, knocking the demon off of him and onto the bed. “Well maybe, I don’t know, that’s his own problem. The task was to help a friend in need, I wasn’t asking specifically for a _sex demon._ Very different kinds of help.”

The demon sputters, sitting up in the same way he had been summoned, legs elegantly crossed to shield his body.

“I...” The demon starts, licking its lips. “I can’t leave until I complete the task I’ve been summoned for. Any act of aiding with companionship. Dammit, and I was looking forward to devou- devoting… myself… to you…”

“Well that’s just great,” Bokuto lays down on his back, looking to his left to see a very naked leg. “Dammit, here.”

He averts his eyes and quickly sits up to grab a fresh pair of pajamas from his drawers, shoving them towards the demon. 

“Put these on, please.”

The demon eyes the clothes, then looks up at Bokuto, face washed in confusion and desperation.

“You really don’t want to have sex with me?”

“I don’t. Now, please put these on.”

Bokuto shakes the clothes in his hand, the demon seemingly disgusted by the concept.

“If I leave them off will you consider it?”

Bokuto insists with another shove, and the demon huffs, putting on the shirt that’s way too big for his frame. He curses in some demon language as he slips on the pants, looking miserable.

“This has never happened to me, you know,” The demon sprawls out on Bokuto’s bed, looking up at the ceiling fan.

“I think that makes two of us,” Bokuto pulls an extra blanket off of the chair in the corner of the room, laying it on the floor. “But I am way too tired and way too overwhelmed to complain about this right now.”

“Not my fault you wanted to summon a demon at, what time is it? Three? Jesus, you really are an idiot,” The demon lets out an airy laugh. “You’re just asking for trouble.”

“I am not an idiot,” Bokuto holds out his hand. “Now hand me a pillow.”

“You could always get in bed with me,” The demon draws small circles on the bed. Bokuto gives it a glare, and the demon drops the act. “Fine. I didn’t want you anyways. It’s not like I’m the most seductive incubus in the entirety of the realm.”

“Not powerful enough to get a twenty-one year old virgin to sleep with you though.”

The pillow hits Bokuto in the face, the demon’s eyes like blackened coalfire. The demon gets under the covers and turns its back to Bokuto, mumbling about never being under the covers in this way, its voice full of disappointment. Bokuto just lays down on the hard floor, and tries to ignore his body long enough to sleep.

Yes, Bokuto is _great_ at magic.

-

Living in a house full of witches, Kuroo’s woken up to almost anything he could imagine. He’s woken up, more than once, mind you, to a mob of imps trying to make his bed, to a rogue spell that made all of his socks dance across the floor, to a failed glamor spell that made everyone’s hair go pink, and he’s seen Iwaizumi sneaking out of Oikawa’s room in the middle of the night more times than he’d like to admit.

That being said, he’s never found a stranger sitting at his dining room table, sipping on tan colored coffee. The man, no, demon, looks up at him as he enters the room, lowering the mug in his clawed hands.

“I made a pot of coffee, I hope you don’t mind,” The demon greets as if he’s meant to be there.

“Um…” Kuroo tilts his head, prompting an explanation.

“I’m with Bokuto,” The demon sleepily mumbles as Kuroo goes over to pour himself a mug, stirring in cream and sugar, the demon having used up most of the cream he just bought.

“Of course,” Kuroo sits down at the table, pointing out the obvious. “And you have a mostly human form.”

“A-rank,” The demon answers, not looking up from his coffee. “You have a very nice house. Old design. What century is it currently?”

Kuroo parts his lips in shock. There’s no way Bokuto managed to summon an A-rank demon on his own, right? There’s just… no way. Even Bokuto wouldn’t be that powerful, but if he used the correct ingredients, then maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to pull it off.

“Twenty first.”

The demon nods.

“Not much time has passed since my last visit, then.”

“Excuse me, but, why, exactly, did Bokuto summon you?”

The demon shrugs.

“Wanted to help a friend with something. Virgin blood at three in the morning?” The demon clicks his tongue. “Not the smartest idea.”

Kuroo nods, coming to a realization. 

“You’re an incubus.”

“I am,” The demon sips his coffee, and Kuroo awkwardly clears his throat, averting his gaze. He knows better than to get close to an incubus. “Akaashi.”

Kuroo’s head snaps over to look at the demon, his eyes wide. He stands up so fast that he almost knocks over his coffee, rushing over to the stairs.

“He’s fine,” The demon Akaashi insists, his tone disappointed and regretful, eyes dark and hungry. “For now, at least.”

“Bokuto!” Kuroo calls from the bottom of the stairs, his voice shaky. “Koutarou Bokuto you better get your ass down here right now!”

A door swings open and a frantic-looking Bokuto clambers down the stairs, nervously looking around for something. Or someone. Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes steadily turning red in anger. 

“You found him,” Bokuto whispers, Kuroo pulling him by the ear into the living room.

“You summoned an Akaashi demon?” His voice is hushed, scared.

“A what?”

Kuroo points at their dining room, where the demon gives a small wave. 

“A demon from the Akaashi bloodline! They’re notorious for eating the witches that summon them. Why in the _hell_ would you summon him?”

“I-” Bokuto looks at the demon. “Eat me?” He half-screeches, the demon shrugging. “You were trying to seduce me so you could _eat me?”_

“Please, _please_ tell me you haven’t signed a contract.”

“Well…”

“Bokuto!” Kuroo whines, already picking out what outfit they’ll bury his remains in.

“Contract signed, but the terms have yet to be decided since he refuses to sleep with me,” Akaashi props his head up on his elbow, watching them. “So I’m stuck here until we sleep together.”

“Which he will _not_ be doing,” Kuroo says firmly, looking between the two of them. “Bokuto, the minute you make official terms with him, he will complete them and then eat you, you understand that, right?”

“Can’t we just exorcise him?”

“No!” Akaashi protests, standing up, Bokuto’s pajama pants hanging loosely from his hips, tail bristled behind him. “If you so much as try to exorcise me I will kill everyone in this house, contract complete or not. And that is a promise, not a threat,” He huffs and sits back down, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Bokuto. He regains his composure and looks at Kuroo. “I won’t try to trick him into shady deals, witch, I’m not that petty of a demon. I am a demon, not a monster, I need consent.”

He shifts to adjust for the tail to slip back under his shirt, going back to his coffee. Kuroo gives him a look, knowing that any demon above a C-rank was never to be trusted due to their own free will. 

He hits Bokuto upside the head.

“Idiot, I know you want to help Suga but this?” He gestures to the incubus. “This is going too far.”

“At least I did something,” Bokuto pouts. “At least now we have someone else to give a second opinion on our ideas.”

“If they’re all as dumb as summoning an incubus, then scrap everything,” Akaashi finishes his cup of coffee and starts cleaning it out in the sink.

At least he’s a housebroken demon.

“We can’t just have a demon hanging around the house,” Kuroo rubs his face, trying to get rid of the headache that’s building behind his forehead. “What if the neighbors see him just strutting around like this?”

“I don’t strut, I saunter,” The demon cocks an eyebrow, sighing. “Fine.”

The demon closes his eyes, and takes a slow breath in. Not much happens, but his claws shrink into normal nails, and his eyes open to a brilliant blue. Bokuto tries to suppress the gasp that slips through his lips, and Kuroo can’t blame him. The demon’s pretty cute, but he’d rather gnaw off his own foot than sleep with an Akaashi demon. Kuroo looks at Bokuto, who’s still staring at the demon in complete awe.

“I’m trusting that you can take care of the demon you so carelessly summoned?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto breathes, looking at the demon as he examines the house’s artifacts. “Yeah I can look after him.”

“Remember to keep it in your pants. He eats people, remember?”

“Do all demons eat people?”

Kuroo opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have an answer. They turn to look at Akaashi, who just shrugs innocently, his features returning to a more demonic state to preserve his magic.

“It’s more of a preference thing. I only eat people I find attractive,” He looks at Bokuto and quickly looks away. “Not that you…” He clears his throat, fumbling with a teapot covered in dust from the top of a cabinet. “Four people living here and you seriously can’t dust?”

“If there’s no spell for it, it doesn’t get done,” Bokuto shrugs, turning pink, Kuroo nodding in agreement. 

The demon scoffs.

“Well, I can’t stand being trapped in such a dirty house, honestly, you’re animals. I’d ask you where the cleaning supplies are but I doubt either of you know where it is.”

The demon _saunters_ off to look for a feather duster, but will probably end up sorely disappointed. The last time anyone touched a broom is when Bokuto thought he could use one to fly, which ended up with a broken ankle and a night of Oikawa learning healing spells.

Bokuto lets out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair.

“Did I end up summoning a sexy demon housekeeper?”

Kuroo hums, tapping his finger to his lips, considering.

“Methinks you did.”

-

Suga has had stranger days. But then again, that might just be a lie his brain is telling him so that he can stay in his right mind. There has to have been stranger days than this one, right?

Waking up to an incubus from the Akaashi bloodline dusting the halls with his own tail is a new one, though. Planning the murder of a witch hunter is also new. Best not to make a habit out of it. At least Kuroo accidentally spilling bright gold pigment powder in his office was able to offer up some normalcy. 

“Tanaka,” Suga frowns, pre-cutting the pies when there’s a lull in the lunch rush, all the other waiters hiding out in the breakroom with most of the cooks. It’s been a long shift for everyone, especially since they’re understaffed with waiters. He’s tired, and one can only think about both work and murder for so long before it starts to take a toll. “What do you know about Haru Kobayashi?”

“The crazy old man that lives in the haunted house on the river?”

“Do you think every house is haunted?”

“This entire town is haunted, Suga, I’m just waiting for Zak Bagans to show up and feature the diner,” Tanaka gets the same dreamy look in his eyes that he always does when he talks about Zak Bagans. It’s the same look in his eyes that he gets when he talks about how he swears he saw Bigfoot while on a roadtrip with Saeko. “But Mister Kobayashi? Dude’s a freaking weirdo, man.”

Suga nods. It’s not new information, he’s gathered that much from a quick google search, his mug shots being the first things to pop up. One account of attempted assault, let off on bail and community service because he had a good lawyer. The lawyer was probably another witch hunter, or one of the Light witches hellbent on eradicating evil.

Suga doesn’t even know where to start with his murder plan, but he’s not too angry about not knowing how to go about ending a life. He preferably (to the coven and himself) has to use magic to do it, but what spell could kill someone? What spell could actually end a mortal human life? Was there even a spell that existed that could do that? Must be, since covens can and will take lives to even out the balance.

Maybe the coven wanted him to kill Haru Kobayashi using a spell that didn’t seem deadly at first. A test of application.

Then again, what spell _could_ kill someone? He could use an intense form of voodoo magic, but he’s never even thought about doing voodoo magic before, let alone get good enough to use the more advanced techniques so soon. He could commit arson, and just hope that the witch hunter isn’t smart enough to get out in time, but he knows that witch hunters aren’t so easily fooled. Plus it might get him arrested, which is also out of the question. Something that won’t leave a trace, then.

He could shrink the man and step on him, but something about crushing a human with his foot and hearing a small crunch sends shivers up his spine. No, he can’t physically take a life, it _has_ to be magical, something from a distance.

“Why do you wanna know?”

The question snaps Suga back from his morbid imagination, his eyes flickering to Tanaka.

“Just curious,” He lies. “Kuroo sees him at the market a lot and the vibe isn’t too… friendly.”

Another lie. He hates lying, but he’s rather good at it. It comes with the territory, nearly a birthright. It makes poker night at the house a living nightmare, with Bokuto always managing to win the whole pot with nothing more than an off-suit hand. 

“Dude gives me the heebie-jeebies, too, bro. I don’t know what the hell he’s got hiding in his house, but there is a small town rumor going around if you’re interested,” Tanaka’s grin is less than reassuring. 

“Sure,” Suga continues carefully, putting the pies away in the small fridge display nearest the entrance. 

“You know old lady Dabney? Saeko’s old math tutor’s mom that lives on River Street?”

“The one who takes her cats for a walk?”

“No that’s Bethesda, and she is very lovely when you get to know her. Never insult Ms. Bethesda, or I will actually come after you. She knits sweaters for the animals at the shelter during winter and gives Nishinoya free candy on Halloween because she thinks he’s a child. Anyways, I overheard,” Eavesdropped. “Old lady Dabney and Miss Jones from the cornershop talking and _she_ said that Mister Kobayashi always carries this little stick thingy, always looking at it. Apparently the little knick-knack spins around, but it’s not a compass. Says it’s some kind of layline detector or something.”

Suga’s mouth goes dry. It is most definitely a witch hunting tool for magic detection.

“That’s silly,” He acknowledges, his words wavering in the air. “It’s probably just a compass that’s being interfered with by all the unmined magnets in the mountains.”

Tanaka shrugs.

“I don’t know, man, I’m always saying that there’s something freaky-deaky going on in this town. Remember when half the team got nosebleeds that one time and you nearly passed out at the sight of blood?”

“I wish I could forget,” Suga breathes, pausing as he finishes cutting the pies, guilt building up in his throat. He hoped others would forget that incident, too, but at least they think of him as some sort of weak idiot that happened to be a victim.

“Not to mention the birds lately. I was talking to Hanamaki from the coffee shop the other day and apparently the same thing happened there that happened here! A dove just,” He claps his hands together. “Right into the window. Same day, same time! It’s only a matter of time before Zak Bagans is hauling ass up here, some days I think the fucking Mothman is just going to walk right in the front door. Maybe the Jersey Devil, that would be pretty cool. Maybe some sort of demon?”

The door opens, the welcome bell ringing, and Tanaka’s eyes pan past Suga, his face scrunched up.

“Or… a tourist, apparently.”

Suga can’t hail enough. He’s never been so relieved to have a customer walk in during a conversation that’s meant to last until the end of his shift. He turns around, and his stomach drops.

“Oh. You,” Akaashi looks around the diner. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a waiter kind of guy.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Got bored,” Akaashi shrugs, eyeing the counter where Suga is wielding a giant kitchen knife covered in chocolate. “Your house isn’t as interesting as I first thought. Oh, do you have lemon meringue?” He eyes the pies in front of Suga, almost drooling.

Suga opens his mouth to speak, but three thoughts dominate his mind. First of all, the man-eating demon that’s meant to be under Bokuto’s lock and key inside the house just happened to stop in for a slice of pie. Second, Tanaka’s going to ask questions, since they obviously know each other. There’s no way to play this off like they don’t know each other. Third of all…

“Is that my shirt?”

Akaashi looks down at his outfit, Suga’s favorite “potato” shirt half-tucked into a pair of Oikawa’s skinny jeans, Bokuto’s converse on his feet. Even more shockingly, he pulls it off way better than Suga could ever hope to.

“I was wondering who had such weird taste,” Akaashi mumbles, looking at the pie case. “Shame, no lemon meringue. Does the café have anything with lemon in it? I really want it now, or I might just turn ravenous.”

Suga doesn’t like the look in Akaashi’s eyes. That eager double meaning, his black eyes and fangs just barely hid beneath his human mask. Suga sends back an equally threatening stare, both creatures unwavering.

“Suga, who’s your friend?” Tanaka looks Akaashi up and down.

“Um-”

“I’m a friend of Bokuto’s, visiting for the time being,” Akaashi’s smile comes as easily as his lies.

Must be a universal birthright for non-mortals.

“A friend that you _need to get back to_ ,” Suga says, his voice forceful. “I’m sure he’s very worried about where you’ve gone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi waves. “You at least have lemonade, right? I’m just craving something sour.”

Suga breathes, face unwavering as he gets a to-go cup from next to the soda fountain and pushes the little tab that says lemonade, slowly filling up the cup before putting a top on it, passing it to Akaashi as he pulls three dollars out of his tip jar.

“No need to pay, Suga, it’s just a lemonade. Probably costs me like eight cents to make it,” Tanaka shoves Suga’s hand back into his tip jar, Suga mumbling a small “ow” as Akaashi starts sipping next to the counter. “It’s four, your shift is over soon anyways. Go on, get out of here,” He nods his head at the door. “Go enjoy your night, get some rest. Good rest, too, you haven’t really looked like yourself these past few days.”

“Is it because of the-” Akaashi begins before Suga raises the lemonade up to his mouth, some of it spilling out of the straw onto the potato shirt. “Right.”

“Just… wait here, okay? You’re already too much to deal with and I just met you this morning.”

“Touchè.”

Suga hurries to get his bag, the fabric still faintly smelling of crushed chocolate pie. As if on cue, his phone starts ringing, Bokuto’s dumb contact photo that he set himself showing up. Suga immediately answers, already knowing this is about losing Akaashi.

“I don’t know, Kuroo! He was literally just here- shit he answered. Heyyyyyy, Suga,” Bokuto muses. “Your shift is just about to end, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way out right now,” Suga clocks out and rejoins the dining area, where Tanaka is showing Akaashi supposedly haunted places on a map, using a pen to circle all the areas. There’s already about seven circles on the paper, but Akaashi looks interested.

“Great! Um, well, can you please, uh,” He hesitates, a door opening and closing in the background. “We are out of milk.”

“Kuroo picked some up two days ago,” Suga can feel the headache building in the front of his skull as he empties his tip jar into his backpack.

“Oh… right. Um-”

“Did you find him yet?” Kuroo hisses in the background, doors opening and closing frantically. 

Suga bites the inside of his cheek and looks at Akaashi, pinching the bridge of his nose as Tanaka enthusiastically talks about the supposedly “most haunted” house in town is probably Suga’s, since it’s so ancient and seen so much death. Suga doesn’t miss the smile on Akaashi’s face when Tanaka starts talking about his theory that someone in town once used one of the empty houses to summon demons.

“I’m _on the phone,_ Kuroo.” Bokuto spits back.

“Everything okay?” Suga holds the door open for Akaashi as he thanks Tanaka.

“Yes!” Bokuto almost yells. “Everything is just fine.” Bokuto’s never been a good actor, the lilt in his voice a tell-tale sign of his lies. “Kuroo is making soap, I am enjoying my day off, and Akaashi is totally in the house, not gone or anything at all. We just need you to not come home for a while. No reason.”

 _”Dude, shut up!”_ Kuroo closes a door.

“Is that so? Akaashi’s there?” Suga asks, looking at Akaashi as he grabs his bike off the rack and they start walking back home.

“Yes, of course he is, where else would he be?” Bokuto scoffs, but there’s worry in his voice.

“Oh, I don’t know, Akaashi, do you want to tell Bokuto what you’ve been up to?”

“No, I’m enjoying you scolding him,” Akaashi looks at the map, squinting at the circles.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Suga sneers. ”How the ever living fuck do two people not notice a demon walking out the front door?”

“To be fair, I left through the window,” Akaashi sips on his lemonade, looking around before looking back at the map.

“We’ll… talk about this when I get home,” Suga hangs up before Bokuto can protest. “What are you looking for?”

“That mortal seemed to know a lot about places with demon activity. If any of them are in good standing, I might be able to send myself back home without needing to complete a contract.”

“Oh hail The Dark Ones,” Suga sighs under his breath.

“I was looking forward to a bit of fun, a good meal, but it’s not worth becoming a coven’s slave,” Akaashi scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Unfortunately, I don’t think any of these places have enough collective energy to be able to teleport me back, so I’m most likely stuck here.”

The frown on his face is genuine, a mix of regret and sadness. Suga knows that most A-rank demons have free will outside the limits of the terms discussed in their contract, and that Akaashi would most likely be able to do whatever he wishes until Bokuto fulfills the contract, but knowing Bokuto, nothing is worth possibly ending his life.

He’s heard of Akaashi demons before, in the books his father made him read so that he would stay away from the path of summoning. The man next to him is a fear tactic, just a cautionary tale to scare young witches away from relying on demons for everything. The entire family line are incubi, and if they aren’t being summoned for the obvious reasons, they’re powerful in other ways, but it all comes at a great cost, as they take pride in making sure that no witch can summon them more than once.

Summoning them is an ultimatum. A last resort.

“You aren’t really planning on eating Bokuto, right? You could just fulfill the contract and be on your way.”

Akaashi hums, looking around at the town. It’s an old town, built and rebuilt more times than Suga can count, and ever-growing. But it still has that charm, the kind you can only find in old-fashioned soda and candy you can only find for a nickel at general stores.

“I’m still considering it. The more time I spend here,” His gaze drifts around the town, his hand gesturing to the shops. “The more my magic is depleted, and if I don’t feed soon I’ll just be reduced to losing my rank and wandering the senseless darkness.”

The casualness of it, the deadpanned voice, sends shivers up Suga’s spine. He doesn’t know where demons came from, but ‘senseless darkness’ sounds about right. His father always told him that demons just waited until doors to the mortal realm appeared, only certain demons being able to go through if they met the summoning criteria.

“So,” Suga starts, rolling his bike over the curbs. “How about I convince Bokuto to complete the task as soon as possible and in return, you don’t eat him.”

“I would still very much like to feast before I leave,” Akaashi slurps the lemonade, looking like he’s about to start drooling. “I cannot guarantee that I won’t eat him in the moment, he has lots of muscle. Lean. Something I don’t get to taste very often. It’s not a matter of me wanting to or not, it’s a matter of being able to overpower my core urges, which I will admit I cannot do. If I was sure of my control, I’d be gone by now.”

Suga lets out a small sigh and turns down the residential streets, Akaashi following close, his mask wavering slightly, his eyes flashing black between blinks.

“I must uphold my bloodline, something I’m sure you’re rather familiar with,” Suga looks at Akaashi, his claws poking the plastic, mouth wrapped around the paper straw. “May I ask what your foolish friend was trying to summon me for under the notion of helping a friend?”

“Kill a witch hunter.” 

Akaashi almost spits out his lemonade, covering his mouth with his hand, uttering a small apology and clearing his throat. It’s a pretty standard reaction to murder.

“I have never known of a witch to be given such a task, even amongst the dark.”

“It’s a family thing.” 

“How unfortunate.”

Suga doesn’t respond, and the two walk in a considerably comfortable silence for the next twenty or so minutes. Suga’s gotten so used to the town, so used to his street, that the beauty of it is just gone. Will the town even accept him if they found out? If he managed to leave any traces?

“Oh wow,” Akaashi breathes, stopping to pluck a lush green leaf off of a tree, rubbing it between his fingers.

The maple trees sweetened the air in the summer, and even more so in autumn, but left a sort of stickiness in the air that made you feel trapped. The approaching summer heat was nothing the town couldn’t handle, but everyone complained anyways, the cicadas already starting their songs. 

Kuroo and Oikawa are from New England, just like Suga, and they’re used to this. Used to the snowstorms that leave trees bare, the crisp maple breeze, the rewardless task of snow shoveling as a chore because it “builds character”. Bokuto was from the south, and he likes to remind everyone that he was born in a city (and had the lack of accent to prove it), but he still loves to catch fireflies on humid nights and hummed along to country songs he swears up and down he’s never heard before, complaining that they “don’t know heat” and refusing to wear shorts unless the temperature was nearing ninety.

Claremont isn’t a pretty town, but it has its moments, even to outsiders.

Akaashi drops the leaf and smells his fingers, somewhat disappointed in the lack of smell, his gaze shifting back to the old house at the end of the cul-de-sac, his frown deepening.

“I’m really stuck here, aren’t I?”

Suga breathes through his mouth, pursing his lips as he nods. He knows the feeling. All too well. 

They approach the house, and to his right, the neighbor’s door swings open, nearly giving him a heart attack. He isn’t used to having neighbors, since the last ones moved out within a month of when the headache that was his fellow trio of idiots moved in. He clutches his chest and wheezes, trying to compose himself when he sees Daichi close the door behind him, wearing nice but casual clothes.

Daichi spots the pair, and Suga can feel Akaashi’s eyes boring into him, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looks between them.

“Suga! Good to see you again. You heading home?” Daichi’s face contorts into a small cringe at his own question before going back to a broad smile.

“Yeah,” Suga clutches the straps on his bag, Akaashi suppressing a small laugh. “You heading out?”

“Job interview, actually,” Daichi smiles. “I’m the only one that hasn’t been able to lock something down before moving, so uh, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Daichi, I’m sure anyone would be honored to have you.”

If Suga wasn’t so focused on Akaashi staring at him, he might have noticed the small pink color that Daichi’s cheeks take on. Daichi’s eyes fall on Akaashi as he gets further down the driveway, his steps more wary.

“Oh, hello, I don’t think we’ve met, I just moved in next door,” Daichi reaches out his hand, and Akaashi reluctantly shakes it, his claws starting to pop out. “Daichi Sawamura.”

“Akaashi.”

“First or last?”

“Last,” Akaashi nods before walking away with not so much as a goodbye to Daichi. 

“He’s…”

“Temporary.” Suga runs a hand through his hair, watching Akaashi enter the house, Bokuto nearly jumping on him in the doorway as it swings shut. “Don’t let me keep you from your interview, really, it’s a twenty minute walk.”

“I’ll be early no matter what,” Daichi sheepishly rubs his neck. “I kind of get nervous. Eager.”

“I do the same thing,” Suga laughs. “Don’t worry, everyone in this town that I know who runs a store will find your eagerness endearing. My boss makes fun of me for it, but it’s all good, even someone like him would appreciate it.”

“Hey, Suga!” Kuroo’s voice calls out from the second story window, Suga turning his head to look at Kuroo pointing at an open grimoire. “Sorry to cut your little flirting session early but I found something you might wanna see. You know, about _the thing_ your dad told you to do.”

Suga feels his face start to heat up and he gives a small apologetic look to Daichi, who’s equally flustered, avoiding eye contact. Damn you, Kuroo, Daichi’s probably straight and now he most likely thinks that he’s someone that goes around flaunting his sexuality. Blushing means he’s embarrassed, right?

“I’m so so sorry about him, he’s an idiot, I gotta go. But really, good luck with the interview.”

He turns away so fast that his head sways and he marches up the front stairs, the heat spreading to his ears and neck. He ignores the image to his left of Bokuto trying to get Akaashi to move his legs so that he can sit down on the couch, scolding him for leaving the house, and meets Kuroo at the top of the stairs.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one that’s doing the research?”

“Well,” Kuroo clicks his tongue, resting the book on a small table that once held the rotary phone Suga used to play with as a child. “Let’s pretend that I already knew it.”

Suga looks down at the yellowed pages of Kuroo’s family grimoire, the pages blank to his eye. Kuroo scans over it, running his finger along invisible lines of text.

“What did you find?”

“A spell that’s potentially lethal.”

Suga’s nose wrinkles up.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“What other choices do we have? This might take a while to master, but it crosses over into voodoo magic, so Oikawa can probably help the learning process go a little smoother. Basically, it’s a binding spell that ties the caster and the subject’s movements together. Caster in control, of course.”

Kuroo writes down the spell on a small piece of paper and closes his grimoire, handing the paper to Suga. Suga looks down at the scrawled out writing, the lettering somehow illegible and neat at the same time.

“So, if I were to get him somewhere dangerous…”

A million possibilities run through Suga’s mind. He could get the man to lay face down in water and just stand still, he could make sure they were a distance apart and walk him off a cliff, he could learn some quick healing spells and use himself as a voodoo doll, although that last one doesn’t seem like the best idea.

“It doesn’t really cut out the dirty work, does it?” Suga frowns, reading over the spell again and again. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Kuroo’s mouth twitches into a frown. “I don’t think there’s any spell out there that will do anything cleanly. I could list a hundred spells that _could_ do the job, but none of them are as clean and quiet as a binding spell. But hey, maybe the spell will go severely wrong and kill him for you.”

At the sound of a loud door slam downstairs and Oikawa loudly ranting about work, Suga thanks Kuroo for the spell and goes into his room to get some peace. He flops down on his bed and copies the spell down in his own grimoire section, using one of his class notebooks to write down possible ideas. He could walk into the river, drop the spell, and hope that Mister Kobayashi can swim a little less well as he can, or perhaps have him reach out of a bottle of poison and drink it, or maybe he really could just scrap the voodoo idea and use another spell.

Suga doesn’t have the heart to give someone such a horrible end, even if he is a witch hunter. Drowning seems almost as awful as a fire incantation, and poisonous potions are tricky and the ones he knows how to make lead to a pretty messy end.

Not to mention that every motion would be mirrored to his own, and that in itself seems like a challenge to work through.

It all just proves more and more that this _would_ be the perfect task his father could give him. Research, application of skill, ability to follow through, loyalty to the safety of the coven. He’s probably sitting in his office right now, wondering just how Suga will ultimately take a life, waiting impatiently for results. 

_Taking a life._ Something that seems so unbalanced in terms of nature, but he’s always been taught that a life ending is equal to the life it produces. Nature will claim him as its own, and the grief will be the balance the Light must seek to right.

Suga lets out a frustrated sigh and thumbs through his five-times-great-uncle’s chapter, the one with teal pages, a few of the spells easy to understand, others entirely foreign to him. He thought he was good at magic, but everything other than the basic spells look so complicated that it gives him a sinking feeling that he has a much longer way to go than he thought. 

He still doesn't know what his path would be. His task utilizes practical spell casting and elements of curses and hoodoo, but he isn't sure if these are the paths he wants to go down, other than practical spell casting to some degree. The idea of chaos magic floats across his mind again and he shakes off the feeling, shivers running down his spine. No, never that. He’s not his mother.

He flips through his five-times-great-uncle Kouki's spells for hours, the teal of the pages straining his eyes, all of the spells in this chapter redundantly simple for having been put in a grimoire, a lot of them things that could be replaced with modern technology, turning the page from the spell equivalent of a light bulb.

Several black pages appear, the ink hidden underneath. Suga furrows his brow, flipping forward, checking the index. It goes from (very great) aunt Ai to his great great great grandmother, and then to a chapter named Jun. He furrows his brow, not knowing of a relative named Jun. He flips to the index of ownership, but it goes straight from great great great granny to one of his great uncles. There is no mention of the black pages in the index, but it’s not all that unusual, since his own mother’s name had been erased but not her spells. He raises an eyebrow, cautiously flipping through the black pages, running his finger along the blank parchment.

It’s in the family grimoire, so it’s not _too_ strange right? There’s many parts of the family tree that he’s never known about, most of them in the early chapters of the grimoire. Who’s to say that there’s an uncle he’s never heard about. Dad never talks about his family outside his mother, and Suga’s mom hasn’t been in the picture since she got excommunicated.

He always was his father’s child, after all, and _mother_ is only mentioned in passing or as a comparison to who he looks more like. She’s only remembered for her beauty, but if Suga looked like his father, no one would have remembered she was like a white rose blooming in the snow.

He frowns, his stomach turning. He hasn’t thought about mom in years. 

The sun starts to set, and the amber light always hits Suga’s eyes in the worst ways this time of evening. He stands up and goes over to the window and sees Daichi in his room, sorting through some boxes and folding clothing. He watches, his hand idly gripping his curtains as Daichi turns around to put a succulent in the window sill. He looks up, his eyes catching Suga’s.

He gives another small wave, and Suga can’t help but smile and wave back. He mouths the word “job”, pointing to Daichi, who furrows his brow. Suga repeats it, adding the word “interview”. Daichi flashes a smile and throws a thumbs up, and Suga claps in return, Daichi laughing and giving a small bow. The light catches his eyes, nearly blinding him, and Suga ducks to avoid the light. Daichi chuckles, turning around to face one of his smug-looking housemates, who gives Suga a wave.

He says something, and Daichi turns red, starting to argue with him, looking defensive. Suga lets a laugh escape his lips as he waves goodbye to Daichi and closes his curtains, his heart fluttering lightly against his chest. He puts a hand to his heart and bites the inside of his cheek. So that’s what this feels like.

He goes to peek out of the curtains, but before the lack of his better judgement can kick in, a soft white glow flashes out of the corner of his eye. Suga turns his head and looks at the grimoire, which is now glowing palely, white text starting to bleed out of the open pages. His eyes widen as he makes a grab for the book, and the white ink settles into neatly printed handwriting. 

_"All Seeing Eye."_

Suga squints as the words settle into a simple description, an even simpler spell resting at the bottom of the page.

_"Use this spell when you wish to see what cannot be seen. Let the looking glass guide the lost in times of need.  
specaerioculo."_

The ink starts to fade, and Suga quickly memorizes everything written on the page, repeating the phrase silently to himself, watching the book's pages fade into the default tan. Purple ink seeps into the pages to form the next chapter, as if the white text had never existed at all.

_Specaerioculo._

The word doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, but it does nestle into his mind like it’s found a new home. A spying spell? Suga’s never heard of such a thing, but it does seem like an advanced branch of some sort of tracking charm. 

He closes the grimoire, his head spinning, fuzzy, the word burned into his mind. He quickly stands up and rushes into the bathroom to cup sink water into his mouth, his throat impossibly dry. He coughs, almost retching at the sandpaper feeling, and looks up in the bathroom mirror.

Behind him, a boy, no, a young man, with dyed hair and golden eyes crouches on the floor behind him, his face bruised and battered. Suga’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s unable to turn around, his legs heavy.

“Again,” Another man’s gruff voice calls out, a hand coming into view with a loud slap. “I said, do it again, fucking scum.”

The man looks up, blinks his dull eyes, and starts muttering, his teeth coated in spitty crimson. Suga clenches his eyes shut, and the chant begins.

 _”Infinde obscur, infinde malke, infinde obscur, infinde malke.”_

The chant repeats, the young man’s voice strained with tears. Suga chokes on a sob, the regret of making a sound boiling up in the back of his ragged breathing, and everything goes quiet. Painfully quiet. Footsteps inch closer, closer, his heart pounding against his chest, his breathing ragged. He can feel a body behind him, an outstretched hand reaching out. 

Fingers wrap around his arm, and he lets out a shrill wail, the showerhead exploding next to him with a loud creak and rattle. The showerhead itself clatters into the porcelain tub, water spraying over him and pooling on the floor. The lights above him shatter, what feels like a piece of Suga’s very soul ripped from his body.

“Suga!” Bokuto’s voice calls out, Suga’s eyes snapping open. “Suga! Shit!” He yells over the water, Kuroo rushing into the bathroom, eyes wide.

Suga collapses, shaking, the image of golden eyes burning into his mind over the fuzzy blackness, water soaking into him as his body starts to convulse, eyes rolling back. He feels arms around him, like little daggers around his cold skin, hands made out of needles. He can faintly hear Bokuto calling out to him, shaking him, lightly slapping his face. 

“What… fuck, what… happened?” 

More slapping on his cheek, copper in his mouth. He tries to reach up, but he can’t tell if his limbs are obeying him or not, his body too far detached from his mind. Golden eyes, it’s only golden eyes in the darkness, golden eyes that morph into a white dove. 

_You’re doing so well, Koushi._

Something crashes from above him, loud thuds and a scream, and then, static.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the archive warning to graphic depictions of violence just for future reference!


	5. A Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the chapter names to songs that fit the ~vibe~ of the story and made a playlist [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4JHRcDc5DIV96DsIGkxHt5?si=-ru-mB8LRh6nF0UIDtlJ2A) I will be adding to it as the story progresses, and hope you all enjoy!

If it wasn’t already a problem that Suga had a surge of power that knocked him out and caused an nearly town-wide power outage, then his current state was the _actual_ problem. Kuroo runs into Suga’s room with a damp washcloth, Bokuto borderline crying while trying to quell Suga’s shivering. Suga himself is on his bed, muttering under his breath, speaking incoherently, but his eyes are glowing purple in distress and that’s never a good sign.

No wonder he flooded the bathroom and caused a power outage, his magic practically trying to flee his body, it’s been festering for so long. Kuroo puts the washcloth over his head, his skin hot to the touch, his mouth in a deep frown, Suga’s hands reaching out into nothingness, grabbing for anything to take hold of.

The floor is littered with dead doves, the sight alone enough to make Kuroo gag. He tries not to look down, but he tries even harder not to step on them.

“So you still have power?” Oikawa asks, poking his head in the room, his phone pressed to his ear. “Well that’s good, that means it’s just this side of town…” He walks over to the window, peering behind the curtain and out of the broken window, Iwaizumi’s voice coming from the other line. “Yeah, we’re all okay. Well, Suga’s got magic fever but he’ll be fine. Probably. Hopefully. It’s fine.”

“Oikawa, can you please get out if you aren’t going to help? Where is Akaashi?” Kuroo leaves the washcloth to Bokuto, who’s started a long-term healing incantation, eyes closed in focus with his hands on either side of Suga’s head, a soft blue light emitting from his palms.

“Cleaning up the doves downstairs,” Oikawa winces at a small crunch under his foot. “Really, what is it with all the doves? Is it the Light?” He licks his lips. “Or is it… an omen?”

“Hell if I know,” Kuroo breathes, looking out of the window, looking at the neighbors that have started to gather in the streets. “We should fix this before people start asking questions.”

“I’ll do it,” Bokuto offers, removing his hands from Suga’s head, his eyes going from grey back to their usual gold. Suga lets out a pained whine, and Bokuto looks down, his hair drooping. “Maybe in a second. Damn, any normal human would die with a fever this high.”

“Shit,” Oikawa curses, letting the curtain fall into place. “What kind of white ass neighbors go outside to talk in the streets during a power outage? Jesus, it’s like the time Bokuto’s cake caught on fire and everyone was watching the firetruck from their lawns.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard a rumor that I’m a pyromaniac after that,” Bokuto chimes in. Oikawa and Kuroo look at Bokuto, and he shrugs. “Well they aren’t entirely wrong, Tendou and I love getting to use the blow torch at work.”

“I worry for your bakery,” Kuroo mutters, hoping more than anything that Tendou and Bokuto are never left alone in the bakery together, and that Goshiki’s the one that caramelizes the sugar, although something tells him that all three of them probably go a little overboard. He shivers, and Bokuto goes back to the healing spells.

“Should we go down there? Some of them are looking at the windows, but I think it’s too dark to see the damage.”

“Shit,” Kuroo runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe we should. Pretend to be all confused about the power. How are your acting skills?”

“I pretend to like sharing a bathroom with you, don’t I?” Oikawa asks flatly.

“Alright, fine, come on.”

Kuroo stands up and motions for Oikawa to follow, the two of them stepping over the doves and start making their way downstairs. The living room and Kuroo’s office don’t look any better than Suga’s room, Akaashi sweeping the birds into a pile in the center of the entrance hall. Lye water solution coats the floor, with powder pigments knocked off their shelf. All of the windows are broken in, and Kuroo’s more than relieved that the streets are dark enough not to make them out. 

“We’re going to go play friendly neighbors, divert attention,” Kuroo nods to Akaashi as he pushes Oikawa out of the door. “If Bokuto needs any help, go upstairs, or come get us. We don’t want another repeat of the surge.”

Akaashi nods and continues sweeping, Kuroo and Oikawa meeting the group of gossipers in the cul-de-sac. He gives a friendly wave, knowing that he’s the housemate that the neighbors trusted the least, seeing him as some sort of recluse instead of an artisan soapmaker. Well, except the sweet lady next door that wants to take it up as a hobby and keeps asking him for advice, but doesn’t want to have lye fumes in the house. Kuroo can only get by with having his office and workshop in the house due to sealing spells.

The group of people are somewhat frantic, the night still young but late enough to cause disrest, but it’s also turned into a sort of social hour, with everyone trying to get to know the new neighbors. Oikawa makes a beeline for the main gossipers that just _adore_ him in order to get the information on what they believe the outage is, as well as to quickly dispel anything that might incriminate them.

Kuroo walks up to Daichi and his housemates, who are talking mainly amongst themselves, brushing off the group of people asking what they do for a living or talking about upcoming local events. He puts on a smile, and introduces himself, Oikawa getting pulled into conversations with the gossip troupe of older women about when he’s planning on marrying Iwaizumi, and if they want their service to be at the local church, recommending pastors that will officiate “the gay weddings”.

“I’m guessing you guys had the same idea to come out here, then,” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck. “Crazy things, I haven’t seen people out here like this since Bokuto’s cake caught on fire. Everyone just loves to know exactly what’s going on, huh?”

These three were the most dangerous. New neighbors with fresh eyes, the ones most attune to spotting the unnatural. With Suga getting closer and closer to Daichi, this could be an issue. Existing neighbors just _love_ to gossip with the new neighbors, and if there’s anything that seems off, it’ll make its way around, and with a known witch hunter in town, well, these three are more dangerous than anything else.

“Yeah, it seems like a party out here,” Ennoshita scoffs, his arms crossed over his chest. “Is everything okay on your end? Asahi thought he heard a scream.”

Kuroo waves him off.

“Suga was in the shower when the lights went off, it’s no big deal.”

“Ah,” Ennoshita says, looking at their house. “There was a crash, too, are your windows okay? They look a little wonky.”

Damn. Kuroo narrows his eyes at the man, Oikawa approaching after finally escaping the manicured claws of the cougars.

“They’re fine! I just dropped a cup when the lights went out and it shattered. You should have seen Suga, poor thing was taking a shower.”

Hail The Dark Ones that he and Oikawa share one collective brain cell. Kuroo looks back at the house, and the glass starts to shift back into the windows, sealing as if they had never broken. 

“Well, I was talking to Paisley over there,” Oikawa hikes his thumb up behind his back, one of the ladies turning her head at the sound of her name. “And she thinks that the summer heat knocked the power out like it did two years ago. Nothing to be worried about, I’m sure it’ll be back by morning.”

“Does this happen a lot?” Asahi scratches his chin. “I don’t like how dark it is here compared to the city.”

“Oh, you lived in the city before this?” Kuroo finds himself asking.

“Yeah, we shared an apartment, actually.” Daichi nods. “Ennoshita works in information collection and got stationed out here, and there was no way he’d be able to afford a house on his own. We all got along, needed a change of pace, and well, here we are.”

“That’s really cool,” Oikawa deadpans, looking back at the house, his eyes slightly widening. “Oh, is that Akaashi?” 

Kuroo turns and finds Akaashi _sauntering_ down the driveway, waving a hello to the gossip circle, which goes crazy over him. He walks up to Kuroo and smiles at the trio before pulling Kuroo down, his grip firm.

“His fever is worse,” He mutters under his breath before introducing himself.

Kuroo nods at Oikawa, tilting his head for a distraction, and Oikawa starts going off about possibly setting up a dinner for the eight of them to get to know each other better. One of the huge selling points is that Bokuto is actually a rather excellent chef despite the… everything… about him.

“Magic fever?” Kuroo’s voice is low.

Akaashi shakes his head, his eyes looking up at Kuroo through his lashes, his face darkened even more than one should be in an outage.

“I don’t know too much about witches other than that you all taste better than humans. Magic fever is your territory, not mine.”

Kuroo shivers at the seeping blackness of his eyes, but decides to move on.

“He screamed and looked utterly terrified of something. Do you think it’s a spell gone wrong?”

“Possibly. I’ve been around a while, and I haven’t seen anything like it,” Akaashi looks back at the house, his eyes going black as he thinks. “Are the doves new?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Kuroo sighs.

“Omen?”

“Probably.”

“Hm,” Akaashi hums lowly, his eyes turning back to blue.

They turn back to the conversation, Oikawa making dinner plans for the Fourth of July, which is something problematic in its own right. They can’t just hide all the magical artifacts in the house, and if one of them were to wonder off on their own, well…

Kuroo doesn’t trust everyone to keep the secret for the whole of an evening.

“I’m working that day so that I can get other holidays off, but I’ll probably be off before dinner and fireworks,” Daichi considers. “I won’t be able to make anything, though. I can probably help with groceries.”

“That’s fine, I’ll be here and Asahi will probably be here too, I’m sure we can manage to bring over a dish,” Ah, great, sounds like they’re coming over to the witch house. Just peachy. “You’ve been very welcoming, Oikawa, Kuroo, Akaashi. I think there’s just one more roommate we have yet to meet?”

“Bokuto,” Kuroo supplies. “He’d be out here but Suga twisted his ankle.” 

“Does he need medical attention?” Asahi perks up.

“Did I say twisted? I meant he’s fine,” Kuroo purses his lips, mentally kicking himself. Of course, the nurse. That’s another issue, he’s seen Suga rapidly heal once before. They’re already standing out too much.

It’s not like being a witch is a sworn secret, The Dark Ones had their own office space in New York City, after all, but the unspoken rule is to keep to yourselves lest the witch hunters come. The more mortals that know about them, the more chances there are for people to talk, either against their will or freely. 

“Just a fall,” Akaashi catches on.

“So clumsy,” Kuroo adds.

“He has two left feet, shame, really,” Oikawa throws his hands up in a shrug, his phone buzzing. “Oh, hang on, Bokkun is calling me. Hello hello.”

Oikawa looks like he’s just swallowed his own tongue, looking at Kuroo and Akaashi with wide eyes. He nudges his head towards the house insistently, already starting to push Kuroo and Akaashi inside with the fakest smile Kuroo’s ever seen him wear. He calls out over his shoulder.

“I think he really needs our help, we should get going, great to see you and we’ll… follow up with the dinner.”

“Just,” Daichi chews his lip, catching himself. “Tell Suga I hope he gets better soon.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, reading Daichi’s face like a book. He gives a small grin.

“We’ll send him over when he’s all better, promise,” He draws an ‘x’ over his heart and pushes Oikawa and Akaashi back to the house, thanking the gossip moms for letting them know what was going on.

When they get into the house, when the door is closed, and they’re alone, Bokuto calls for them from the top of the stairs, a small light flickering out of the palm of his hand like a lantern. His face is pale, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kuroo breathes as he runs up the stairs, Oikawa following close at his heels. Akaashi stays behind to dispose of the doves.

“He was doing relatively fine, just shaking and muttering things, but all of a sudden,” Bokuto swings Suga’s bedroom door open, where Suga is now chanting steadily, his body levitating two feet off the bed, the room bathed in rogue feathers and a lavender glow.

“Holy-”

“Well that’s not good,” Oikawa murmurs.

“What kind of fever is this?” Bokuto nervously bites his nails, gesturing to Suga, who is raising a few more inches into the air.

“I think he tried to do a spell that was way above his competence level,” Kuroo scratches his neck anxiously then covers his mouth with his hand in thought. “Has anyone seen him do any actual magic since when I went over object levitation with him?”

Bokuto and Oikawa think for a second, then answer with slow, collective head shakes.

“I think he levitated his grimoire once…” Oikawa trails off, and Kuroo goes over to Suga, reaching his hand out.

That’s what this is, then. Witches are cursed, in a way, in that they are beings of magic and must therefore release, lest it cause a magic fever like this one. But in some cases, like this one, Suga must have released too much all at once, and his body is trying to cope. Not entirely awful or uncommon, but the worst case Kuroo’s ever seen. 

Any regular mortal would die under these conditions, but Suga’s no regular mortal.

He recoils, but pushes past the invisible cloud of magic that surrounds him. He puts his palm flat against Suga’s forehead, and Suga crashes against the bed, Bokuto yelping from behind them. Kuroo carefully strokes Suga’s hair, his bangs sweaty against his burning forehead, face twisting in pain, his chanting turning into a series of whimpers with a few incoherent words.

“... weak?... flock… the falcon…”

Kuroo frowns, looking at the few feathers that hang in the air, Oikawa hurrying to get another damp washcloth to put across his forehead. Kuroo mutters a small magic replacement charm, hoping that it really is a magic depletion fever and not a build up. He feels the magic from his own body pool into his fingertips, flowing into Suga’s body. It seems to put him at ease, the lavender light starts to dim, and Suga’s left with his shivering and small whimpers. Kuroo removes his hand and steps back.

“We should talk about this when he’s ready,” He starts, heading towards Bokuto and Oikawa as he steps over the doves. He grimaces, the omens not sitting well on his brain or his stomach, his nose scrunching up at the muffled sound of his own footsteps. “I think we need to have a little chat about what kind of spell takes that much energy from him.”

-

Suga walks through a bright forest, the forest by his house, the one he’s been in many times before. His father had made him walk these woods time and time again, making sure he knows his way back home, or at least a simple compass charm that even underage witches can do. The trees welcomed him, bent to his will, guided him like he was their own child, the way it adopted all witches and condemned the mortals that dared enter.

Claremont isn’t known for its witch trials anymore, but the streets are built on the same dirt the spilled blood soaked into. He remembers learning about it in school, the school curriculum taking pride in the town's history, and it seemed to be a theme that every October the teachers would relate everything back to the history of witches in town in order to squeeze something Halloweeny into lessons.

He never liked learning about the trials, the awful things done to his kind. In the eyes of mortals, witches were evil, and not even centuries of healing could truly mend the image of witches themselves. He wouldn’t be hanged, at least, not publicly, but the idea of mortals’ ideals falling in line with witch hunters made him sick to his stomach.

The witches were hanged in these woods, their bodies unburied, left to rot and fated to return to the earth. The oak limb had been bent under the weight of the bodies, and that same oak now serving its purpose as a barrier between the mortal and non-mortal. 

He looks up at the grand tree, the forest moss squishing in between his toes, clinging damply to his skin. It’s cold, but pleasant, the autumn woods brushing its fingers through his hair. The long thick branch is now an arch, the trunk hollowing with every passing year. The wind drags leaves across the floor, scraping them against the rock and fallen pine straw, coiling around his legs. It whispers.

_You’re weak, Koushi, but you have so much potential._

Suga blinks, the oak looming over him, its knots like eyes, its branches reaching out for him, the rustle of the twigs beckoning.

“Weak,” He asks, looking up at the tree, at the arch, the border. “How so?”

The wind tickles his ear, ruffles his hair, and whistles through the shallow hollows. A falcon swoops down overhead, but Suga doesn’t duck, and the bird of prey perches on the hanging branch. It cocks its head at him and squawks, blinking with large yellow eyes. 

“A bird of prey,” Suga breathes, his voice catching in the back of his throat.

The falcon stares, and then seems to come to a realization, and it screeches proudly, the sound making Suga’s hands fly up to cover his ears, feeling a slick wetness pour out of them. The falcon’s talons are bared, and it screeches again. Suga blocks his face, his feet sunken in the moss, the coldness like still fingers. Light shoots out of his hand and hits the bird, its mangled corpse falling to the ground with a heavy thump. 

He looks down at the falcon, which has already begun to rapidly decay, its scent of raw flesh wafting up to Suga’s nose, the foul stench churning his stomach. He covers his mouth with a dry retch, the feathers ablaze in amber smoke, the flesh melting into the ground.

_Solitary birds, that one. Pathetic, compared to man. To witch. Not too hard to deal with on their own._

The sun turns dark, like a cloud passing overhead. Suga’s mouth goes dry, his throat like sandpaper. He doesn’t dare look up, the sound of flapping getting stronger and stronger. Falcons screech, and another bird coos in pain.

 _But them?_ The voice teases in his ear. _They flock._

Suga looks up, watching a massive flock of doves and crows flying overhead like an angry storm, falcons ripping an unlucky few out of the air. They dive, and Suga lets out a scream.

-

Tanaka scoops a few generous spoonfuls of whipped cream onto the chocolate pie on the counter, spreading it out evenly with one easy swipe of the back of the spoon, like he’s been doing it for years. In fact, he has, and it’s a rather useless skill.

“So your power wasn’t affected the other night?” Nishinoya runs his finger along the rim of his milkshake, swinging his legs back and forth on the stool. 

“Nah, bro, I didn’t even know the lights went out until you messaged me,” Tanaka frowns. “It’s good, if the fridges went out I’d have to throw out everything.”

“Don’t you have a backup generator?” Daichi asks as he exits the kitchen, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.

“I do, but it’s in the basement and I hate going down there,” Tanaka shivers, looking at his new hire. “Usually I just make the other manager do it but he’s called in sick.”

“You should be glad,” Daichi grimaces. “It sucked not being able to charge my phone or cook all day yesterday, luckily my neighbors are pretty nice guys and shared their portable charger.”

“That’s Claremont for ya,” Nishinoya snorts, taking a long sip of his drink. “Only helpful in a crisis. Otherwise? Nah, everyone keeps to themselves.”

“Power outages are pretty freaky, though,” Tanaka cuts the pie, putting it into the pie case, going over to the soda fountain to fill up his cup while there’s a lull in the rush, Nishinoya being one of their only 4pm customers. “Usually they don’t happen unless there’s a storm.”

Nishinoya nods, propping his elbows up on the counter. His eyes light up, an eager smile on his face.

“Do you think it was something from the forest?”

“It’s always something from the forest. I keep saying there’s some kind of weird shit going on there but no one listens to me,” He huffs, downing most of his drink in one gulp. “Maybe it was from the old dance studio?”

Nishinoya shakes his head, “It would have been more centralized to the town if it came from there,” Tanaka pulls out one of the maps he keeps for tourists, his diner being one of the first places people go to in order to receive directions. “What kind of anomaly do you think it is?”

Tanaka considers, and Daichi furrows his brow, watching them go over the map like the words they’re saying is normal.

“What are we talking about?”

“Demon hotspots,” Tanaka grins, moving on before Daichi can push further. “Can’t be demons, there’s no recorded openings reported in that area.”

“Key word is recorded.” Nishinoya points out.

“Do you really think anyone over there is capable of opening a portal that knocks out the power for a day?”

Nishinoya chews his lip, and points to a spot next to the forest. 

“I was walking around the paths and found a pile of dead doves the day after the power went out.”

Tanaka gawks, his eyes wide. 

“You what?” He screeches. “Doves? Again?”

“A whole pile,” Nishinoya nods, shuddering. “It was awful, no doubt part of a sacrifice or something.”

Daichi finds his voice, raising an eyebrow, his words low as they sit in his mouth.

“You mean to tell me that there’s a cult or something in this town?”

Tanaka and Nishinoya eye each other, sharing a mischievous smile. Daichi regrets asking.

“Listen up, newbie,” Nishinoya addresses Daichi. “This town is a weird one, and don’t you ever forget it. Who’s to say there’s not one?”

“So many weird things,” Tanaka adds.

“Is there a cult? Yes. No. Maybe.” Nishinoya just adds to the fog in Daichi’s mind. “There’s always been something weird going on in this town. Something… supernatural… we’ve narrowed it down to ghosts or demons.”

“Ever since high school, we’ve been researching the occult, mainly demons,” Tanaka shrugs. “Especially after the incident with Suga.”

“Suga?” Daichi interrupts, stuttering.

Nishinoya dons a grin and Tanaka motions for him to take the floor.

“Oh, so you’ve met him? And what did you think of him, Mr. Wearing a Pride Shirt,” Nishinoya points to Daichi’s New York City Pride Parade shirt that he had gotten at one of the stalls in Central Park a few years ago. It’s a simple design, a plain black shirt with a rainbow over the heart. He stumbles to answer, the pink on his face deepening as he makes a motion to cover it up. Tanaka just starts to laugh, hiking a thumb to the pride flag that Suga keeps pinned to the billboard amongst all the high school club posters and ads for local businesses.

“Don’t worry, man,” He pats Daichi on the back, Daichi unable to stop the awkward blush on his cheeks. “Even though we’re out in basically nowhere, we’re pretty open minded. I mean, it’s a two hour drive to Canada and you can’t get more open minded than that.”

“Oh, that is the face of a man with a crush on our little Suga,” Nishinoya wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Oh hush,” Daichi spits, getting back on track. “What was the incident with him?”

“Oh, which one?” Tanaka snorts, hands on his hips. “There’s too many to count. The nosebleed incident is a big one-”

“That was wild,” Nishinoya looks at Daichi’s face and decides to indulge him, putting on a dramatic voice and flapping his hands around. “Imagine that you’re standing on the sidelines, cheering on your teammates. All of a sudden, the other team spikes the ball right in your court, you run for it, but you just can’t get to it in time! Suga yells reassurance, and all of a sudden, his nose starts to bleed.”

“How is that-”

“My nose started to bleed,” Tanaka cuts him off. “And Noya’s. And Tendou’s. And Goshiki’s. And… well, you get the idea. Suga passed out when he saw the blood.”

“It makes all of our other findings look like child’s play when compared to mass nosebleeds and the entire opposing team’s benched players having to forfeit.”

“That’s…” Daichi purses his lips, unsure of what to say. “Should we really be gossiping about him behind his back?”

Tanaka nonchalantly waves his hand.

“It’s all this town ever does. Although no one talks about Suga, just that he’s the poor son whose dad left him an old house and a supposed debt to be paid. 

“There’s also that time when he got flowers on Valentine’s Day and they were dead by the end of the school.”

“Don’t forget the disappearing pencil,” Nishinoya adds through the straw of his shake. “That one freaked me out a bit.”

“Not to mention his creepy old house that’s totally haunted and his strange roommates. Did I tell you that the other day I saw Oikawa trying to put a sign in the café storefront to designate his own parking space?”

“Really?” Noya throws his head back with a laugh. “Somehow I’m not surprised. I bet Iwaizumi had fun yelling at him with that one.”

“And there was a new guy!” Tanaka giddily slams his palms on the counter, eyes sparkling. “Did I tell you about him?”

“New guy?”

“New roommate came in wearing Suga’s shirt that he doesn’t let anyone else wear, I’ve never seen or heard of him before. Suga’s a good liar, but his shock really pulled through. I _know_ that something is up with the new guy. And guess what? He was interested in demon hotspots, too!”

Nishinoya’s eyes go wide, and he breaks out into a giant smile.

“Oh, I’d very much like to meet this guy.”

“I’ll ask Suga next time he’s in,” Tanaka nods. 

“Are you talking about Akaashi?” Daichi butts in, trying his best to follow their hyper conversation.

Tanaka and Nishinoya collectively look at Daichi, their smiles sending shivers down his spine. He most certainly does not like that kind of smile, especially on them. Daichi feels like he’s made a mistake by telling them, but hey, too late now. They lean in, their eyes begging for more.

“Oh? And how do you know him?”

“I’m actually Suga’s neighbor,” Daichi bashfully scratches his chin. “Met his roommates properly during the blackout. Not for too long, though.”

Nishinoya is the one to break the silence.

“Did he smell odd? Like sulfur?”

Daichi blinks.

“No?”

“Black eyes?”

“I think they were blue.”

“Tail?”

Daichi scrunches up his face.

“What, do you think he’s some kind of demon?”

“No,” Tanaka trails off unconvincingly, frowning, caught red-handed. “Noya, make note of this roommate.”

Nishinoya pulls a small notebook out of his pocket and flips to the middle, making a small note with one of Tanaka’s pens. After finishing the note, he reads off everything he’s written down. Daichi makes his escape to the breakroom before he can get any more involved. Tanaka jumps over the counter as soon as he’s gone, looking over the notes with Nishinoya with a much more serious face.

“Alright, so we have an odd power outage from Suga’s part of town _after_ the new roommate who is into demon hotspots arrives. Coincidence or fact?”

Tanaka hums in thought.

“What else we got?”

“The doves that flew into the windows around town, and the pile of doves that I found in the woods.”

“Was the dove before or after the roommate?”

Nishinoya flips back a few pages, humming.

“Before.”

“Damn,” Tanaka curses, thinking hard. “Probably just coincidence, then.”

“What about Suga’s sickness? I don’t think he’s ever been sick a day in his life.”

“His roommate called it in. What’s his name? The one with the,” He motions to his hair.

“There’s two with the,” Nishinoya mimics his motions.

“The one that works at the bakery with Tendou, not the shut in.”

“Oh, right, the one I saw playing with the blow torch?”

“Well,” Tanaka moves on. “He said something about Suga having a fever, so write that down in case Suga says something different.”

Nishinoya adds it to the list.

“How did Suga react to the dove flying into your window?”

Tanaka thinks.

“Shaken up. But then again, I think that’s how anyone would react to it so put two question marks next to it instead of three.”

“And you said he’s been weird ever since his birthday? And don’t think I haven’t forgotten the fact that he went camping in the same woods I found the doves in.”

“Weird...er,” Tanaka nods grimly, tapping his lips with his index finger. “Do you think maybe, just maybe, we should possibly consider just a little bit that Suga might be…” Nishinoya doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks a thousand words. “I mean, even his roommates are the same kind of weird. It just… He would tell us if he was, right?”

Nishinoya sighs and closes the book, finishing his milkshake as Daichi comes back out of the breakroom. Neither of them utter a word, hoping that Daichi would just assume they were paranoid conspiracy theorists. Hopefully, very hopefully, he’ll be like the majority of the town and just live in unbeknownst bliss that nothing is anything but normal.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Nishinoya says with finality, slipping Tanaka his usual $10 and $5 bills for his meal and the tip. “But you know him, even if he was…” He purses his lips, looking at the book. “You know, he wouldn’t want us to get involved. I’ll see you next Monday for the next ghost hunt.”

Tanaka chews his lip and nods, Nishinoya exiting the diner, holding the door open for the man trying to enter. Tanaka barely has time to turn around before a voice rings out.

“Oh ho?” He looks up, coming face to face with one of Suga’s roommates, his hands full of groceries. “Daichi!” He greets with a wide grin. 

“Kuroo?” Daichi furrows his brow. “Weird to see you out of the house.”

Kuroo shows off the groceries in his hand.

“Ran out of ice cream, and I can’t cope with work on my own,” He gives a small smile, looking at Tanaka, who’s seemingly studying him. “I’m actually here on Suga’s behalf, he can’t make it in tomorrow, but he should be fine to come in the next day if you want to switch the schedule around with your other employees. Speaking of which,” He turns back to Daichi. “You didn’t say you worked here. Suga will probably implode when he finds out. Must be fate.”

“Must be,” Daichi mumbles, Kuroo’s eyes going down to Daichi’s shirt. He smirks, and under any other circumstance, it would have chilled Daichi to the bone.

“Actually, this reminds me of something,” Kuroo breaks his trance and sets the grocery bags down on the counter and takes a napkin and a pen out, then his phone, copying down a series of numbers from his contacts. “He’s bi, prefers guys, and he’s never dated anyone so you might want to make the first move cause he certainly isn’t. He’d appreciate it if you asked him how he’s feeling, and he’s better enough now to answer back. You can thank me later.”

He gives Daichi the napkin with a quick wink, a wide grin shamelessly displayed as he steps back.

“And maybe now you can call him instead of mouthing things across the lawn from your windows, Romeo.”

He touches his fingers to his lips, blows a sarcastic kiss with a small wave, and exits the diner, leaving Daichi with just the phone number in his hands. He looks down at the number in his hands, only one thought in his mind.

“He’s bi?”

Tanaka raises an eyebrow, letting out a wheezing cackle.

“Dude, you seriously didn’t pick up on that?”

-

“I swear I have no idea what happened,” Suga anxiously shakes his leg, his arms crossed over his chest. He coughs a little, his throat still sore from all the apparent chanting he had done while passed out. Bokuto puts a reassuring hand on his back from next to him on the couch.

They’re sitting in the living room, Suga sandwiched between Oikawa and Bokuto, with Kuroo and Akaashi in the armchairs that have been pulled over to the other side of the communication cauldron that’s disguised as a coffee table. Suga shivers, only having recently come to, and Oikawa drapes a blanket over his shoulders.

“I just…” Suga trails off, his brow furrowed. He really doesn’t remember much, just that he had casted the spell, saw something that he didn’t like, and then had a wild dream about birds crashing through their windows.

Actually, that last part did in fact happen, Akaashi and Bokuto having disposed of the carcasses in the woods where no one walks. Usually. It should be fine. The entire town is terrified of the woods, and for good reason, because anyone who dares go in might find things like a pile of dead doves.

He licks his lips and meets Kuroo’s eyes. 

“I must have overexerted myself,” He says with certainty.

Kuroo nods.

“We came to the same conclusion. Magic buildup, overexerting release. What kinds of spells have you been doing to release your magic and get it under control? It’s obviously not strong enough.”

Suga doesn’t answer, and purses his lips. He doesn’t want to, knowing that it’ll get him yelled at. He should have been practicing magic in his free time, but he just didn’t. Kuroo’s eyes darken.

“Suga?” Oikawa starts.

“I was planning on-”

“Planning?” Kuroo loudly interrupts, Bokuto and Oikawa avoiding his eyes. “Planning on it? Suga!”

Kuroo’s eyes start to flicker, and Akaashi’s clawed hand flies out in front of him, his coal eyes staring at Suga. Suga has to admit that Akaashi’s eyes are the scariest part about him, like two big pupils, shark eyes, equally directionless. Somehow, Suga knows they’re staring into him.

“I’m not even a witch and I agree with Kuroo,” Great, now the demon is scolding him. The demon that hasn’t even been here a week but has somehow already become a pillar of the family’s order. “It’s not safe for anyone around you for you to not contain your magic. I’d much rather prefer not to get accidentally discorperated or exorcised because you can’t control your magic. Not to mention that I’m the only one here who can rebuild my body if I get disintegrated.”

Bokuto and Oikawa shiver next to Suga. Suga hangs his head and sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” His lip quivers. “I put the family in danger, and it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Suga,” Bokuto says softly as he wraps a beefy arm around him and squeezes. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, you’re under a lot of pressure,” Oikawa adds, draping himself over Suga to comfort him, looking at Kuroo with an evil eye. “Killing someone takes a toll on you.”

“Which is something that we as a family need to talk about,” Kuroo butts in before anyone can say something else. “We need a plan. A solid one. Suga, please tell me all this craziness has amounted to something?”

Suga bites his lip, and Kuroo looks like he’s just swallowed sand.

“Okay, okay, no, don’t give me that face. I found out where the witch hunter lives from Nishinoya, and the gossip troupe of the cul-de-sac gave me some semblance of his routine and I know he’s at home by nine every night, and I have the binding spell that you gave me.”

“Binding? Like voodoo magic?” Oikawa perks up. “Well, I can help with that!” He rubs circles into Suga’s back. “I’m pretty good with spells that restrict limbs.” Everyone gawks at Oikawa, and he turns pink. “I’m going to choose not to explain myself.”

Bokuto winces at the mental image, and Kuroo speaks up to save the pause hanging over them. Honestly, none of them are surprised.

“It’s a spell that ties actions to one another. A mirror spell. Know anything about it?”

Oikawa hums, rubbing his chin.

“Never tried one of those before, but I’m sure it’ll be a great learning experience. Might be fun to add to my grimoire.”

Suga decides to ignore the glint in his eyes.

“And I summoned Akaashi!” Bokuto proudly gestures to Akaashi, who is sprawled out with his legs hanging over the armrest, casually grooming himself. “That’s gotta help with something, right? I mean, maybe if he helps out with something then my companionship request is filled!”

“Sorry, Bokuto,” Akaashi plainly says. “I’m stuck here until you decide to fuck me.”

“Is there literally _anything else_ I can do?” 

“I can devour you.”

“Suga, I’ll find something else to do for you,” Bokuto tears his gaze away from the hungry demon. “I have some contacts with the Dark Library, I can probably get you in to find something. I know a witch named Konoha that’s great with potions-”

“Wait,” Kuroo interrupts, realization crossing his face. “Potions! Suga, do you think you could make a poison elixir? I’m sure some of the books you read as a kid would have taught you.”

“I think so, I remember some oleander recipes,” Suga picks up on Kuroo’s plan. “I also know how to make an antidote.”

“So if you make the potion and the antidote, and then drink the poison while bound to Kobayashi…”

“And then break it before it incapacitates us both, and drink the antidote…” Suga nods, catching on. “I think that could work.”

“What about the, uh, the body?” Bokuto chimes in.

The pit in Suga’s stomach drops. Right. The body.

“Glamour,” Suga breathes, wracking his mind for the limited knowledge he has on glamour spells. “How long does a glamour spell last?”

“It can last up to a few days before needing to be recast,” Akaashi leans back in his chair, all eyes falling on him. He shrugs, his face turning human before turning back to its demonic default. “I can keep mine up for several hours before my magic is diminished and I need to… recharge, so to say. Sugar, flesh…” His eyes wander over Bokuto. “Sex. But a spell with a witch’s magic? It’s passive, and can last longer. You can probably glamour it to be a suicide to not raise many questions, but if no one finds his body, you’ll have to recast it and risk going back to the crime scene.”

Suga chews on his lip, staring straight ahead. 

He could do many things to hide the body. A poisoning would get cops involved, and his physical being there might leave behind evidence. If an autopsy is performed for any manner of death, the poisoning might become evident. He needs a way to cleanse the evidence, to purify the body, to wash it all away-

“What about the river?”

The room falls silent, and Suga sits back.

“They’ll find him floating within a few hours, the investigation will start immediately if they suspect foul play. If they do an autopsy, and the glamour spell is still up, they’ll find a drowned man.”

No one speaks. No one dares tip the deathly silence in the air lest Death itself manifest before them. This was the plan. An actual plan. 

Suga looks up, out, past Kuroo and Akaashi, and gasps. Standing in the center of their entrance hall, just before the main staircase, is the golden haired man, his eyes dull, his clothing dirtied with his own blood, the cloth ripped and shredded around his body. 

And then Suga remembers. 

The spell, the All Seeing Eye, the burn of his witch’s mark on his collarbone, the sight of those eyes glaring at him, burned into his memory. Those dead eyes and broken chant, a compass needle spinning on its axis. 

_The eyes of a witch._

The witch looks out to the door, his face pale and sunken in, like he hasn’t eaten in days. He probably hasn’t. He walks a few steps, pacing, heavy chains around his ankles, chewing his bloodied fingertips, his nails bitten down to nubs. He mutters to himself, his voice soft.

“Fucking hunter…” He trails off, kicking at the air, sitting down on the floor with a sigh. He bites his quivering lip, and looks up, tears rolling down his cheeks, his voice turning into a shrill whine. A beg. A plea. “Just kill me already.”

His head snaps to the right, his eyes staring at Suga.

A flash of white pain ripples through Suga from the witch’s mark and he seizes with a loud gasp for air, his vision blurring as he collapses into Bokuto.


	6. Trouble's Coming

“Alright, voodoo and body magic, what do you already know?” Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest in the living room, looking at Suga with a look that was rather less than expectant.

Suga had been out for a full day after seeing the young witch again, and took another day to recuperate, working a half shift at work against Tanaka’s wishes for him to stay in bed. To retaliate, Tanaka closed the entire diner for the day.

He had intended to work a full shift, but seeing Daichi come in wearing an apron after sending him a text asking if he was okay and then promptly telling him off for coming into work was more than enough to shock him back into going home. Of course, Daichi is his new coworker. Of course he is. If Tanaka was going to hire someone who had been in the town already, he might have already known him. And there were only so many new neighbors.

He stands with his grimoire in his hands, his eyes fixated on other matters.

“Not much, I read a few books and went over some of the chapters in my grimoire but otherwise...” Suga answers, looking at the other man in the room. “Any reason why Iwaizumi is here? No offense, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi casually waves him off, not looking up from his phone, his thumb scrolling through a rabbit hole of slime videos.

“He’s here for moral support!” Oikawa goes over behind the couch and wraps his arms around his neck, nuzzling into his hair, tightening his grip. “Plus it’ll be fun to practice on a real mortal!”

“Oh hell no, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi struggles against Oikawa’s grasp. “Suga, use this idiot as target practice.”

“How rude!” Oikawa mumbles, freeing Iwaizumi from his grasp. He holds his hand out and his grimoire flies into his hand, Iwaizumi ducking a bit at the sudden movement over his head. “Anyways, mirror spell, shouldn’t be much more difficult than other body magic, right? I’m an expert at that, aren’t I Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi stares, the muscles in his neck bulging as his eye twitches.

“Oikawa, have you used magic on me?” He asks lowly, dangerously, Oikawa moving on without answering his question.

“Suga, you ready?”

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi demands.

“It wasn’t anything weird!” Oikawa turns to his boyfriend. “Just a small desire spell so that you’d be less inclined to…” Oikawa’s eyes flicker over to Suga, and his cheeks start burning red. “Less inclined to want to top that one night, but!” He interrupts, looking at Iwaizumi’s reddening face. “But! It only amplifies desires you already had, and honestly, I was expecting you to get more aggressively dominant, but technically, I did nothing to sway you.”

Iwaizumi starts fuming, and Oikawa raises his hand, holding his fingers pressed to his thumb, like a hand puppet. Iwaizumi tries to yell something, but his mouth clamps shut, his hands unnaturally rigid by his side.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? I swear I haven’t used any magic on you other than that and the enchantments on the coffee I serve, I just… I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa frowns, releasing Iwaizumi from his spell when Iwaizumi nods. “Please don’t be mad, okay?”

“You don’t need magic, Tooru, just… ask next time,” He covers his mouth with his hand, avoiding eye contact, but cheeks are pink, and his usually stoic walls start to break down. It’s something that’s been happening more and more with every passing second he spends with the witch.

Oikawa leans down and places a quick peck on his cheek, Suga awkwardly clearing his throat. Oikawa gives a small chuckle and turns to face Suga, who’s trying to avoid their eyes. Ah yes, the awkwardness of talking about sex.

It’s not like the Dark covens were shy about sex. In fact, hedonism was a respected lifestyle, and in the past, many witches have shown to be openly polyamorous, finding much joy in their partners loving other partners. Suga’s own father was someone who openly talked about coven _activities_ he’s taken part in on their holidays, and encouraged Suga to do the same when he became a fully realized witch. It’s only a matter of time that he shows up in the cauldron and asks him and his roommates if they want to "celebrate" the fertility of spring together.

It was more of a personal thing to be this awkward, sex being something that he wanted to take part in but spent years desperately fearing due to his immense desire to be perfectly pure for the grimoire. Now that his name is signed and his hot neighbor is texting him, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

Oikawa breaks him from his thoughts, his grimoire floating in front of him.

“Let’s do a trial by fire, I guess. Can’t waste time when there’s a witch hunter on the loose. Who knows how close he’s getting to finding us, especially after the outage.”

“Look, I said I was sorry-” Suga starts bitterly.

“I’m not blaming you!” Oikawa defends, his hands up in front of him as if to distance himself from Suga’s building anger. “I’m just saying that it might be better to learn this asap so we can uh… _dispose_ of the threat.”

Iwaizumi makes a small sound from the couch.

“Wait, what? Dispose? Oikawa, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Oh it’s nothing, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tries to cover up, his smile less than reassuring. Iwaizumi doesn’t buy it. “Don’t worry about it! Witchy things that you don’t need to worry your grumpy little head about.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, unimpressed. Suga lets out a small sigh, and explains.

“The Dark Ones want me to eliminate a witch hunter before I can fully become one with the coven.” 

Iwaizumi chokes.

“So like, murder?”

“In short, yes,” Oikawa huffs, giving Suga a sideways glance before scanning over the spell in his grimoire. “But- hey, don’t give us that look. it’s not like he hasn’t already killed many of our kind. According to Kuroo, witch hunters don’t live very long unless they’re really good at what they do. You live in this town, I’m sure you know about all the witch trials that went on here. Let me just tell you right now that modern witch hunters don’t pay the same courtesy of hanging people. It’s more about gruesomely chopping us up into little pieces so the police can't find the bodies.”

“Isn’t it… you know… dangerous? For Suga to be going against someone like that?” Iwaizumi lowers his phone, worry settling on his brow, eyes flickering between the two witches, the air growing restless and heavier.

Somehow, despite the thick air, it makes Suga feel better knowing that a mortal is more concerned about his safety going up a witch hunter than he is about his intentions. But then again, he’s a mortal that’s in love with Oikawa, so he’s already made some questionable life decisions.

“That’s why I’m teaching him!” Oikawa beams, eyes twinkling at the thought of being a good teacher. “Okay, Suga, this seems easy enough. Spell, optional channeling medium, and the counter.” He goes over to the corner of the room and picks up a piece of quartz from their crystal collection, tossing it to Suga, who fumbles to catch it.

“A rock?” Iwaizumi leans over and picks up the quartz that’s skittered across the floor to his feet. “Oh, quartz. That’s for like, healing, right?”

“Good, Iwa-chan! I knew I’d start to rub off on you,” Oikawa praises him and Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to pelt him with the quartz in his hand as he hands it back to Suga. Oikawa doesn't even flinch. “Purified quartz makes a great channeling medium for all kinds of spells. You ready?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Suga raises an eyebrow, and the grimoire in Oikawa’s hand floats to rest on the couch with Iwaizumi, who stares at the book like it’s about to come to life and bite his hand off. With Oikawa’s chapter being the only chapter, it just might. 

"That's the spirit, Suga," Oikawa stands with his arms by his side, nodding for Suga to start.

He takes in a shaky breath and looks down at the quartz in his hands. A channeling medium would definitely yield better results, and make sure that he hit his target, but he isn’t wholly confident that this is going to work. This is a much bigger step up from levitating Asahi’s stuffed cat off of the moving boxes, and he isn’t too sure that it’s any smaller than the spell that had incapacitated him. Then again, this isn’t the same as being haunted by visions of a seemingly hostage witch. He rubs the smooth side of the quartz with his thumb, and looks up at Oikawa. He nods, more to himself than anyone else.

_”Glasmwen, glasou, mare.”_

He recites the words he’s come to know by heart, and power surges through his fingertips and into the quartz, the crystal itself heating up in his hands. Slowly, choppily, Oikawa’s hands start to rise, his fingers fitting around the air like he’s holding a stone, but he breaks free with a strong enough tremble.

“Great start,” He looks up at Suga. “But I was able to move my toes. Unless you were moving your toes, in that case, it worked.”

“Um,” Iwaizumi says from their left, and they turn to look at him, his hands in the same position, his head turning left when Suga does. “Please end this.”

“Suga!” Oikawa smiles, a wild look in his eyes. “You got Iwa! I’m so proud!”

_”Glasfen.”_ Suga says, and Iwaizumi echoes the word as he turns his head, dropping his hands by his side. “I’m so sorry, Iwaizumi, you weren’t supposed to be-”

“I wanted to stand up, too, but I still had control over my legs,” He interrupts, eyes wide. 

“I think it works better on mortals,” Oikawa says, pure wonder lacing his voice. “That’s good news.”

“That was…” Iwaizumi starts, and Suga bites his lip in regret. “Really cool.”

“What?” Suga blurts out, and Iwaizumi meets his eyes.

“I mean, I didn't like not being in control of my hands, but there was a strange sense of, I don't know… pleasant heat? In my hands,” He looks down at his own hands, flipping them back and forth to inspect his palms and the backs.

“Hey, Iwa-chan, would you like to take my place? I think me being a witch makes me more immune.”

“Hang on, I never-”

“Please?” Suga asks, raising his eyebrows in his plea. 

Iwaizumi sighs, and stands up.

“Oikawa, you owe me.”

“Why me? I’m not even casting the spell on you.”

“Not right now, but I have a feeling this is going to show up later and I don't trust you.”

“I mean, you’re probably right, but still, ouch,” Oikawa feigns hurt and takes a seat on the couch. “Suga, control your breathing more. A calm heart will help you use the quartz better.”

Suga nods, and takes a few deep breaths before he looks at Iwaizumi, his thumb rubbing over the crystal again. His phone buzzes again to remind him that he has an unread message, and his mind flickers back to Daichi. How he's this eager to talk to someone like Suga. He repeats the spell through a small smile, focusing all of his energy into the quartz, his eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s figure. 

Iwaizumi’s arms start to rise, slowly, but they rise nonetheless, forming Suga’s hold on the crystal. His legs part a little, matching Suga’s stance, his body taking a staggering step backwards.

“Why is he moving like that?” Oikawa asks, his mouth lazily covered by his hand as he rests his elbows on his thighs.

“I think it’s matching my placement to the room,” Suga and Iwaizumi speak in unison, Iwaizumi’s face matching the concern on Suga’s face.

“This is really trippy,” Iwaizumi struggles to get out, his voice a strangled choke.

“Try to break out of it,” Oikawa instructs, and Iwaizumi’s muscles start to clench.

Suga takes the opportunity to hold his hand up, Iwaizumi mimicking his motions with a small delay, his body trembling. Suga bites his lip, and Iwaizumi does the same.

It doesn’t feel good, seeing that look of worry on Iwaizumi’s face. It’s his own worry, but when it’s applied to someone that can’t move, someone struggling to break free from a witch’s control, from _his,_ control, it looks terrified, not worried. His stomach twists in on itself, and he hopes that Iwaizumi can't feel it, but he isn't too hopeful.

_”Glasfen,”_ Suga breaks the spell, and Iwaizumi drops to his knees with a gasp for air, sweat beading on his forehead.

Within a second, Oikawa is on his feet, helping the shorter man stand up straight.

“Okay, you did great, baby, you did great!” Oikawa coos, moving Iwaizumi over to the couch, sitting him down and pulling him into a tight hug. “We’ll stop this now, okay? You can just rest now.”

“Did… did I hurt him?” Suga presses his hands to his mouth in shock, the warmed quartz stuffed into his pocket.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, but he’s still unable to speak, his body trembling. He opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips, and looks at Oikawa.

“Water,” He insists, his voice scratchy and worn out.

Oikawa leaps to his feet to get it, leaving them alone. Suga looks over Iwaizumi's body, the symptoms seeming to be healing on their own.

“I am so sorry, Iwaizumi, that looked awful!” Suga breathes through his fingers. 

“My fault,” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “My fa-” He coughs.

Oikawa returns, and Iwaizumi downs half the drink in one sip, faring much better with something to drink and Oikawa's gentle touch.

“Fuck,” His mouth twitches into a quivering smile. “I’ll n-never… fuck with a… witch again.”

“Oh shut up and drink your water,” Oikawa raises the cup to his lips, a hand lazily rubbing circles on his back. “What happened?”

“Trying to break free made it so much worse,” Iwaizumi says between gulps of water, Oikawa's face going pale with the knowledge that he was the one who had told him to fight it. “It was like the more I tried to move on my own, the more my body wanted to submit,” He rubs his chest. “And I think Suga stopped breathing at some point.”

“Wait, okay, so your breathing is attached?” He drops the concern for Iwaizumi and looks at Suga with a frantic look in his eyes. “Suga, write all of this down,” Oikawa snaps his fingers, and Suga grabs his grimoire. Oikawa conjures a pen out of thin air and hands it over to Suga, who makes a list of effects for the new spell under where he’s written it down. “What else?”

“Uh,” He coughs, and looks down at his outstretched hands. “I don’t know, really, my fingertips got hot again.”

“Probably from the crystal,” Suga surmises, writing that the more someone struggles, the worse they feel. “Oikawa, do you think that maybe we should run some tests for the plan? Get two cups of water and see if we can get someone to drink it? I’d like to test something else, too.”

“Well, only if Iwa-chan is okay with it,” Oikawa bites his lip, his hand moving up to pet Iwaizumi’s hair. “If not, we’ll go back to practicing on me.”

“It probably won’t work on you.”

Everyone’s heads turn towards the new voice in the room, Akaashi’s head peering into the room, his body leaning in the door frame from the hallway that leads to Kuroo’s office. He looks tired, like he had either just woken up from a nap or that he's been up for a while.

“Malicious natured magic is less effective towards your own family. Healing spells are boosted, success rates of learning a new spell are boosted when taught by a family member, but if the spell has the potential to harm, it’ll be less effective.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been around since 1897, I’ve learned a few things,” Akaashi enters the room, in full demon display. Suga hails The Dark Ones that Iwaizumi had seen Akaashi in demon form when he first arrived, and even more so that he barely batted an eye at the sight of Akaashi. Even so, Akaashi looks... different... than he had when he first got summoned.His skin is a bit paler, his hair less shiny, dark purple bags forming under his eyes. Suga doesn't want to know what Akaashi needs to do to go back to normal, since it probably involves cleaning carnage out of Bokuto's room. “I can help.”

“You’d willingly submit yourself to that?” Oikawa flatly points to a shaking Iwaizumi.

Akaashi shrugs.

“Might as well, since I’m here. And…” He frowns. “Maybe if I help out with Bokuto’s idea of ‘companionship’,” He puts the word in air quotes. “I’ll be able to get back to chaos.”

Oikawa and Suga equally wince at the mention of chaos. Demons were part of a branch of magic that witches dared not touch, magic that didn’t seek out to balance the earth, but break its rules. It’s what made them demons, and witches that tapped into their power were the most unstable of them all. It’s just not meant to be harnessed by witches, but that didn’t mean that people didn’t try. 

Breaking the laws of the universe was a giant slap to the face for everything the witches stand for, though, and anyone who tries gets excommunicated. 

Magic had an equivalent exchange. Usually it was energy from the witch themself, or the cost of ingredients, or a channeling medium. You can’t create something that doesn’t already exist, even the art of conjuring and summoning coming from either calling upon an object that instantly moves from one place to another, or opening a portal for entities that already exist.

Akaashi is a demon, neither mortal or witch, not entirely bound to earth. He is, however, a high rank demon, which presumably means he was born of a human and a demon, and therefore bound by half of the rules most earthly beings are bound by. It probably explains his need to feed rather a need to seek equal compensation.

If he does happen to be half mortal, then the spell would work better than it does on Oikawa.

Before he can ask Akaashi to stand still, his phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, the quartz falling out. He reads the notification that says he has text from Daichi, smiling to himself, but before he can open it, Kuroo runs into the room with spare robes. 

“Why do they never send ample warning?” Kuroo hisses, frantically tossing the robes to Oikawa and Suga.

“What’s happening?” Iwaizumi asks, the cauldron in front of him erupting in thick purple flames.

He stares with wide eyes, clinging onto Oikawa with a yelp, Akaashi flying back a few steps, like a cat that’s been startled by a cucumber like in the videos Kuroo keeps sending him.

“Shit,” Oikawa breathes, shoving Iwaizumi behind the couch as he tosses his robe on. “Get down, Iwa, and stay down, okay?”

“Akaashi, you should leave, too,” Kuroo fixes the robe over his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Damn them, giving me a two minute warning. I barely had time to find the robes.”

The second the words leave his mouth, Suga’s father appears in the flames, and the three witches bow their heads in respect, keeping their heads down, as per tradition.

“Hello, Koushi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Oikawa Tooru, and… demon?” His brow furrows at the last one, staring at the demon that’s sitting at the dining room table. Akaashi gives a nonchalant two finger wave, his legs propped up on the table. They raise their heads now that they’ve been addressed, and Suga’s father’s mouth is pressed into a thin line at the sight of Akaashi. “I assume he is of the Bokuto boy’s doing. I have noticed he is not in attendance.”

“He is at work right now, but we will be sure to have him pass along his regards,” Suga meets his father’s eyes. “May I be so brave to ask why you have blessed us with your presence, Dark One?”

“Koushi, you know that you have no need to refer to your father in such formal terms,” He insists, despite the obvious sparkle in his eyes begging for more. “As for your question, I have decided to be so kind as to personally check on your progress rather than one of your Elders or Coven Leaders. I have noticed that it’s been over a week, and yet there has been no witch hunter head delivered to my desk. Need I remind you that it only took me three days to complete my own task? Five days for your grandmother? Six for the three generations before her?”

Suga stops himself from physically frowning, hoping it doesn't show too much on his face. Of course, this is a meeting to berate him for his ability. It isn’t as if his father never had the courtesy to teach him magic as a child that might have helped him complete the task. No, he has knowledge of witch politics rather than a spell that might cause someone to not feel pain so he could go through with a painless death.

“I have come up with a course of action, and I am well on my way to completing it.”

“If you are so well on your way,” His father’s eyes narrow. “Then I expect results soon. Kuroo, Oikawa, and by extent Bokuto,” The pair of witches jump at the sound of their names. “Should be helping you through this, and you yourself will have to deliver the finishing blow. I am afraid I’ll have to take note of this, for all four of you. I am disappointed, Koushi, but there is still time to salvage your reputation. I speak very highly of you to the fellow The Dark Ones, and I’m not the only one expecting much of you, you know. My reputation as a father is on the line, as well, you realize this, right?”

He wants a response.

“I do, Dark One.”

It’s a pathetic response, shaky, strained. He doesn’t even notice that Kuroo, Oikawa, and Akaashi are all staring at him with the same concerned expression.

“I hope your plan offers a little grandeur, for how long it’s taking you.”

It burns. His eyes that are welling up with tears, his throat that’s scratchy, his heart that’s aching for a father that cares even an ounce about him. It all burns. 

His father’s eyes are cold, unwavering, his face made of stone.

“Dismissed, please hail.”

“Hail The Dark Ones.” The three of them chime in, Suga’s coming out silent as he stares forward, not looking up at his father as the purple flames diminish.

“I...” Suga whispers, the tears falling from his eyes. He can’t even finish his thought as he wipes the tears with the backs of his hands. “I need to do this soon.”

“Suga, you can’t rush something like this,” Kuroo pulls him into a hug, Oikawa joining in behind him. “It’s not your fault.”

“But if I don’t, it’ll reflect badly on all of us.”

“So what?” Oikawa rests his chin on Suga’s shoulder, their height difference capturing him perfectly between the two. “It’s not like they’re just dying to call us when they need something. We do our part to keep the balance, we hail to the Dark Ones and Elders, we’re going to be okay, okay?”

“Wow, Oikawa, that almost sounds mature,” Kuroo teases.

Oikawa opens his mouth to make a retort, but Suga lets out a laugh, shoulders shuddering between them. They release him from their grasp and he wipes the last of his tears away, nodding, face tight and reddened, eyes puffy.

Kuroo gives him one last reassuring pat, and Suga lets out a shaky breath, nodding as he steps away, letting Kuroo and Oikawa deal with explaining to Iwaizumi what just happened. He finds himself wandering past Akaashi and stepping outside, out to the back patio that leads to the forest.

It’s not autumn, and it’s not bright out. It’s not like his dream. There’s just a dusky sunset on the horizon, the chirp of cicadas, and the float and promising glimmer of fireflies. He wipes his eyes, letting out a strangled sob as he gasps for air, and looks down at his phone, the text from Daichi lighting up.

**From Daichi:** How are you feeling today? 

He sniffles, and opens the message, their awkward and short past conversations above the message, reminding him of how painfully enthralled with Daichi he is. He wipes the few remaining stray tears with the back of his hand, and responds through the slight blurriness in his eyes.

**To Daichi:** Better, thank you. Just a summer cold, I guess 

He looks to his right, able to see Daichi up in his room, sitting at his desk facing the window, watering can in hand as he tends to his succulents. He looks down, almost like he’s startled, and a grin stretches across his face. His eyes snap up to Suga’s room, his smile dropping. 

Whatever he’s startled about passes, and he dons the smile again, looking down at his phone as he types out a message. He hits send, and looks back up at Suga’s room, Suga’s phone buzzing in his hand.

It’s endearing, the way he’s staring when he thinks Suga isn’t watching. Suga’s heart throbs at the sight, his lips twitching up into a closed-mouth grin. It’s a good throb, his chest tightening in a different way. He needed to see that smile.

**From Daichi:** That’s good, I still can’t believe you got Tanaka to close down the diner 

Suga lets out a small laugh, the sound heavy in his throat.

**To Daichi:** He probably used it as an excuse to do who knows what with Nishinoya 

Daichi chuckles a bit to himself, typing out his response, and Suga starts to feel the guilt over watching him like this build up in his stomach, but it’s better than the twisting knots from his father. He turns his attention away from Daichi and starts to head back inside, but a rather familiar image to his left stops him.

The witch is crouched on the edge of the porch, deadly silent. He looks worse than he did before, his eyes glazed over, small bruises littering his arms and legs, a big one forming on his left cheek, a handprint on his neck. Suga’s had it. He steps towards the witch, his heart pounding against his chest, nausea bubbling up in the back of his throat.

“Who are you?” He asks, but the witch doesn’t react. He barely even blinks, his eyes tarnished. “Who are you?” Suga repeats, a little louder.

The witch doesn’t stir. He just sits on the weathered wood of the patio, arms wrapped firmly around his knees, pulling them tightly against his chest. Suga’s defensive stance falls, and he barely registers the phone’s buzz in his hand.

“Are you doing this?” Suga asks, his voice now barely above a whisper. “Or am I?”

He reaches his hand out, the air nearing the witch thick and humid. Suga pulls back a few inches at the feeling, but bites his lip and pushes further, the air around his hand rippling, like breaking through the surface tension of a still lake.

The ripples push past his wrist, and the witch takes notice, looking up at Suga with wide eyes. He pushes himself backwards, scooting across the patio on his knees, his breathing getting increasingly rapid. 

“Hello?” The witch calls out, his voice rough and strained. “What…” 

His eyes are wild, searching around the scene in front of him, like he’s trying to find where Suga is despite being right there.

“Who are you?” Suga repeats, but the witch doesn’t respond.

“Who’s there?” The witch asks, his head snapping towards his left at the sound of a door creak, eyes going serious. “Go. Now.”

Suga spends no time retracting his hand, ripples shooting violently through the air, the image of the witch rippling with it. He takes a few steps back, and the witch disintegrates, like paper dissolving. Suga clutches his chest, the witch disappearing before him. He reaches his hand back out, but there’s nothing but summer air at his fingertips.

“Dammit,” Suga clutches his hair, looking around aimlessly. He bites his thumb nail and runs a hand through his hair, his phone still buzzing in his left hand.

He tries to sort his thoughts. Worry about Kobayashi now, and the creepy visions and the missing memories later. Still, he can’t help but realize just how _helpless_ he is, how he could have done something just now, if it weren’t for the shock.

_Next time,_ Suga thinks, _next time I’ll save him._

-

It isn’t that Ennoshita _dislikes_ his neighbors, no, not at all. In the short while he’s been moved in, he’s managed to randomly meet them on the streets, run into them in the grocery store, and even find them at their jobs when craving coffee or when he found out you can buy single slices of cake from the local bakery. Hell, Daichi was crushing hard on the one he worked with, and he couldn’t be happier for his friend.

He doesn’t dislike them, not at all, but there is _something_ that screams at him, telling him that he should get as far away as possible and never look back. 

Maybe it’s the way that people side step out Bokuto’s way when he walks down the street, or the way no one can resist striking up a conversation with Oikawa, or the way Kuroo’s eyes were a little too cat-like, or the way Suga’s bike went a little too fast, or maybe the entirely ethereal aura of Akaashi.

He sits on the back porch of his house, typing away on his laptop, sending a few emails to coworkers that ask for updates on his progress. It’s simple, really, his job. He gets stationed places, gathers all the information he can to fill out the surveys he’s sent, and typically, he moves on. He doesn’t do any of the hard work, compared to the gruelling tasks his coworkers do, and he’s perfectly happy with it.

His parents? Not so much.

They expected more of him, but he didn’t have the heart to follow theirs. He loves collecting information, linking people to other people, passing along messages and creating files to be shared among his company. It’s easy.

“... who are… you doing this?” A voice to his left asks, and he turns his head towards his neighbors’ house. 

It seems like there’s always something going on over there, and to be honest, the idea of going over for a holiday dinner makes him anxious. He can’t quite explain the anxiety, but it’s a familiar one, one that he hopes passes soon without much more to read into. Moving anxiety, anxiety from being away from the city, anxiety from being away from his parents. 

But then the air ripples next to where Suga stands.

And his jaw _drops._

He would have thought it was an illusion, maybe he’s been staring at his laptop screen for too long and he needs a break, but Suga also jumps back, and that’s enough to confirm that he did very much just see the air ripple.

But Suga seems just as shocked as he does. He’s heard the rumors of the town being weird, having the unfortunate fate of having an encounter with Daichi’s boss during one of his passionate demon hotspot rants, but something doesn’t sit quite right.

He watches Suga head back inside, and he opens the text messages on his phone, typing out a text, his thumb hovering over the send button. He bites his lip, closes his eyes, and hits send. He doesn’t want to see the response, but he trusts Kinoshita, and using text instead of emails that can be monitored by his bosses is his way of communicating that this is meant to be on the down-low, something to be discussed and deleted, meant for their eyes only.

**To Hisashi:** What do we have on ‘Sugawara’? 


	7. The Killing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few words going into this! Please (please) mind the archive warning, and there's an additional warning for emetophobia as a character throws up in one scene. 
> 
> Some important dialogue is shared in the scene, but if you can't read about vomiting at all (I have emetophobia and this wasn't too hard to write), it's not something you won't figure out from other future scenes, so you can skip it, starting with the line "Suga steps back, dragging Kenma into the bathroom" and ending with the line that begins with "Suga flushes the toilet".

“No, listen, I swear I saw a ghost!” Tanaka slams his hands down on the counter, Daichi and Asahi sharing an unimpressed look.

“A ghost?” Asahi pesters. “I mean, I thought ghosts would be scarier than… than a sheet.”

“That’s why it was so terrifying!” Tanaka tries to cover. “Imagine a sheet chasing you with no feet! It was terrifying! You’d expect to see a see through person but no, they hit you with a sheet!”

“Did it say he would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you meddling kids?” Daichi jokes, Asahi cracking a smile. Tanaka isn’t as amused. “Come on, Tanaka, you can’t seriously expect me to believe not only that ghosts are real but that one of them was wearing a sheet like a three year old trick or treater.”

Tanaka grumbles something about getting proof next time, and Daichi refills Asahi’s coffee mug, his hands fitting around the mug from the sleeves of his scrubs. He’s been tired lately, but instead of forcing him to sleep, he’s getting him used to the copious amounts of coffee he’ll have to drink to complete his residency.

He’s also almost entirely sure that the moment they get back home, he’ll crash on the couch, so a little coffee for the soul won’t hurt.

“With everything weird going on, I’m one hundred, no, one _thousand_ percent sure that ghosts exist. I mean, have you _seen_ Suga’s house? I’m surprised he’s never had an encounter. I barely ever step foot in the place because of the chills it gives me,” He shivers to emphasize his point. “Or the old dance studio? That place is definitely haunted by Victorian era children.”

“Not everything that’s old is haunted,” Daichi shrugs. “I’ll believe in anything I can see with my own two eyes, and so far, I haven't seen any Scooby-Doo villains running around with sheets over their heads.”

“Oh, come on, Daichi!” Tanaka squirts the last bit of whipped cream into his mouth before putting the reusable can into the kitchen sink to be washed, continuing from the order window. “Can’t you trust me on this?” The door opens and the welcome bell rings, but the three of them barely register it. “I mean, I know for a fact demons exist in this town, hiding among us!”

A loud cackle breaks their conversation, and they all turn to face the man standing in the doorway, making his way over to the counter. Tanaka feels his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of the gruff man, his mind wandering back to the conversation he once had with Suga. Kobayashi.

“Demons, eh?” He plops down at the counter, pulling the small compass out of his pocket and inspecting it. The needle stays idle, pointing freely away from north, like it’s been broken, and he returns it to his pocket, seemingly satisfied. “I can tell you right now and you three listen up and listen well. Ain’t no demon gonna be the end of this town.”

Tanaka doesn’t like the grin on his face as he starts to scan over the menu, but he can’t pass up an opportunity to talk to people who know things about this town. People who have answers, no matter how much of a town fool they are. He needs answers, for his parents, for his sister, for himself.

Daichi takes his order, and Asahi slips into a chair that’s further down from Mister Kobayashi, Tanaka emerging from the kitchen and standing his ground. 

“Why not?” He indulges the tales of an old man.

“Demons ain’t nothing compared to witches.”

“Witches?” Tanaka furrows his brow. 

Witches were never on top of his list of things to investigate, hell, it never even broke top ten, right after vampires and the Loch Ness Monster. If magic truly existed, it would have shown up in the town with all the other strange things. Ghosts and demons? They were very much real, but witches? Tanaka has to keep himself from scoffing. Maybe Kobayashi didn’t have the answers he needed.

“Aye, witches,” He nods, thanking Daichi for bringing him his drink, giving him his food order that instantly gets put into the order window. “Moved here a few months ago looking for ‘em. Haven’t found the fuckers plaguing this town yet, but I found a coven from the surrounding towns, and that was a mighty fine night.”

Tanaka decides it’s best not to question him further, the glint in the older man’s eyes rather unsettling. 

“Witches, in this town?” Asahi perks up, Daichi rolling his eyes.

“Asahi, witches don’t exist. Besides, it’s New England, every town has a witch story of some sort.”

“And for good reason, boy,” Kobayashi snaps and points a crooked finger at Daichi. “They’ll kill in gruesome ways to get what they want, using bodies for their rituals. You’d be singin’ a different song if you ever found yourself in their clutches. Modern witches, they’re the most evil of all.”

Kobayashi rolls up his sleeves, showing off thick white scars.

“Ew,” Asahi mutters, despite being the one in scrubs, used to seeing grosser things. 

“Got this one when a witch levitated a dagger into me from across the room,” He points to one on the side of his arm, then moves to a circular brand on his bicep. “One of them tried to brand me with an iron to mark me as future food for their demons. Demons are nasty things on their own, mind you, but they act under witches themselves, just servants to a bigger evil.”

Tanaka looks at the brand mark, a circle with a complex design burned into the middle. He stares at it, and gets a pen out.

“Mind if I draw the mark on your arm?”

Kobayashi turns his arm for Tanaka to get a better look, and Tanaka copies it down to the best of his ability. 

“Mind if I draw you one, too?” Kobayashi takes the pen and the napkin and draws a pentagram. “They got these on their collarbones, all of ‘em. See this, and you run. You run far, far away,” Daichi serves him his burger. “Or you kill it right on the spot.”

He bites down, the three men staring at him in shock, Daichi taking a few well deserved steps back from the man that just advised them to kill. Kobayashi continues, speaking through the food in his mouth.

“I’m feeling pretty generous tonight, boy, so I’ll let you in on something,” He gets his compass out and slides it over to Tanaka. “I got two of these an’ a way to make more, so I don’t mind as much. This here compass’ll point to witches when they use magic. The ones in town are pretty quiet, but sometimes…” As if on cue, the compass needle spins in another direction, pointing down the street. Tanaka meets Kobyashi’s glimmering, cold eyes. “Sometimes they’ll do exactly what you expect.”

Tanaka stares down at the compass in his hands, the needle steadily pointing before going back to its fluid rest. 

“Consider it an investment in the future of witch hunters,” He resumes eating, and Tanaka turns his attention to the kitchen. When he’s done with his few chores, he returns to the compass that he’s stuffed into his pocket, Kobayashi paying for his meal. “Full moon tonight, boys, best be careful. It’s when the witches are at their strongest. Perfect night for preparation rather action, even the new ones can kill ya with the right spell.”

Kobayashi leaves without another word, and Daichi crosses his hands over his chest.

“He tipped me a quarter,” He huffs, stuffing the quarter into his tip jar. “I’ll trade you for the broken compass.”

Tanaka looks down at the compass, which spins towards one of the residential areas, going fully rigid. He frowns, and puts it next to where he keeps his notebook of town gossip and possible demon hotspots.

“Yeah, it’s probably just a dud.”

The compass rests.

-

Suga’s body is hot. 

And not in _that_ way. No, his body is hot in the way that he’s getting another fever, sweat forming on his brow, his cheeks flushed red. It sucks, but at this point his immune system must be like goddamn Fort Knox.

“You’re going to make yourself sick again if you keep overexerting yourself,” Oikawa mutters, followed by a healing spell to the forehead, Suga leaning into the cool touch of his hands as he sucks in a ragged breath. “That being said, do it again.”

Suga nods, eyes half-lidded, and turns to Akaashi, who’s standing on the other side of the room, sleeves rolled up in the summer heat. To his left, Iwaizumi and Oikawa rest on the couch, Iwaizumi eagerly drinking the water that’s meant to be used as a potion stand in.

“If I keep giving myself fevers, I’m going to die,” Suga breathes, picking up a new crystal from the pile in the center of the room, fanning himself. “I’m already going to die by having to soak these all in moon water later tonight, but the fever is going to kill me first.”

“We can force Bokkun to do it,” Oikawa sprawls out on the couch, trying not to let his body parts touch. “It’s so fucking hot tonight, why is it always so hot in the evening? How the hell can Bokkun stand wearing pants in this weather? Shouldn’t it be illegal to be this humid when it’s not even summer yet?”

“Take it up with the sun’s lawyers,” Iwaizumi rolls his sleeves up like Akaashi’s, swatting Oikawa’s hands away so as to not have any extra heat touch him. “Or you could just stop complaining.”

Oikawa swats him.

_”Glasmwen, glasgow, mare,”_ Suga repeats for what seems like the hundredth time today, the heat of the crystal in his palms doing nothing to help his aching and sweaty skin. “They don’t even feel like words anymore.”

Akaashi mirrors his words and matches his relative position to the room, hands around air like he’s holding a crystal. Suga puts the crystal away, and pulls two vials full of water out of his pocket like he’s been practicing lately. If he wants to succeed, he has to remember to wear these pants and not the ones that have sewn pockets. Sewn pockets are the worst thing that Dark Coven’s ever come up with, along with Vegemite and “as seen on tv” products.

“Okay, how do we get Kobayashi to grab the vial?” Oikawa grabs Iwaizumi’s water and finishes it off, leaning forward to inspect the scene before him.

“I was planning to just walk up and put it in his hand,” Suga and Akaashi say, taking equal steps towards each other. “Seems like the easiest way.”

Suga holds both vials in his right hand, and when Akaashi gets close enough, he reaches forward and swings his hand into Akaashi’s. It’s a choppy exchange, Suga having to figure out how to fake picking up another vial as he passes it, but he’s managed to get it to more or less work. He’s only dropped it once, and that was the first time he tried it.

It would suck if he got this far with the witch hunter just to have him drop the poison on the ground.

When they’re both holding the vials, Suga uncorks his and drinks all of the contents, Akaashi mirroring his actions. They drink the water in their vials, and Suga releases the spell, Akaashi falling to his knees.

“Suga,” He breathes, putting his hands to his flushed face. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can feel your fever.”

Suga holds his hand up and nods, taking a seat on the floor to catch his breath. He is indeed getting sick again, but this time it’s due to practicing so much, not a sudden release. Nothing a glass of water, a cold compress, and a good night’s sleep won’t fix. 

“I mean, if all else fails, you can just give him your fever and hope his immune system is shit,” Iwaizumi shrugs, causing Suga to crack a small smile.

“I just hope the poison gets done,” Suga pulls his knees to his chest. “I started making it today, should be ready tomorrow.”

A heavy silence hangs in the room. The poison and antidote are on their way to being complete, Suga can hold someone under his control for much longer than it takes to drink a vial of liquid, and he’s almost perfected his technique to get the witch hunter to drink.

It won’t be long, now. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi stand up and start their own practice. What Oikawa needs a mirror spell for, Suga has no idea and doesn’t really want to know, but then again, it’s probably just him wanting to master the art of body magic and voodoo. Suga’s seen the blank dolls he’s been trying to make “just in case”, and he knows to never in a million years mess with Oikawa. Or maybe he should just keep his hairbrush clean. Either way, Oikawa is a force to be reckoned with. 

They all are.

Oikawa makes Iwaizumi start dancing, and Suga turns to face Akaashi. 

“It’s date night for them, and Kuroo is picking dinner up for us and Bokuto. Want anything special?”

Akaashi readjusts his position on the floor and thinks for a second before shaking his head. 

“You know, I’m sure if you asked, Bokuto could bring home the leftovers from the bakery. You look…”

“Awful?” Akaashi cracks a smile, Suga pursing his lips. “Don’t worry, I know. I’ve been using my magic too much to keep up a human appearance. I’ll have to feed soon.” 

Suga frowns and Akaashi reads his face, sighing deeply as they watch Oikawa turn Iwaizumi into his own puppet. They’re both laughing in Oikawa’s cackle, the act entirely unsettling when applied to Iwaizumi. Suga shivers.

“It’s not like I want to eat him, you know,” Akaashi digs his elbow into his knee and props his head up, looking at Suga with tired eyes. “But it’s like being locked in a room with a slice of cake in the middle of it. You can only last so long before you give in.”

“Why does your family eat people?” Suga raises an eyebrow. “I’ve only ever known the Akaashi and the Daishou bloodlines to do that, so it’s not like all demons do it.”

“We can’t consume much else,” Akaashi pulls his knees up to his chest. “Think of it as a dietary restriction. It gives us enough power to operate for up to a year, and I don’t know if you know this, but it’s been a lot longer than a year since I was last on earthly soil. It’s why we aim to feed every time we’re summoned.”

Suga simply nods and turns his head to an angry Iwaizumi, who’s been released from the spell. He’s trying to chase Oikawa around the couch, Oikawa jumping over the back of it, his foot catching and sending him tumbling to the floor with a giant thud.

“Ow,” He whines, Iwaizumi telling him off for deserving it. Suga turns back to Akaashi, ignoring Oikawa’s cries for help as he army-crawls across the floor.

“What if you just eat an ungodly amount of sugar, that’s something that restores demons, right?”

Akaashi scoffs, but his lips twitch up into a smile.

“It might just work.”

“Ow, Iwa-chan, why are you so mean to me?” Oikawa whines even louder, Iwaizumi’s foot keeping him planted on the floor and Oikawa flails his arms around.

“Because you’re an idiot,” He lifts his foot and helps Oikawa stand up, brushing the floor dust off of Oikawa’s clothes. “And we have dinner plans in half an hour.”

“Is it already seven?” Oikawa pulls his phone out, Iwaizumi pulling him to the door before he can cast another spell. “Well I’ll be damned. Aka-chan, make sure Suga gets lots of rest tonight, okay? I’m putting you in charge of him. Okay, take care! Drink water! And Suga, for the love of The Dark Ones, get some goddamn sleep!”

“Oikawa, you’re hovering.”

“If you’re not asleep when I get back I’ll have no choice but to make you fill in for me as Kuroo’s soap assistant when it’s time to package everything.”

Suga scrunches his nose up.

“Okay, fine, you don’t need to threaten me like that.”

Oikawa points his finger in warning at Suga, gives him a once over, and narrows his eyes before following Iwaizumi out the door as if to say “I’m always watching”.

“He has a point,” Akaashi says as he stands up and stretches.

Suga has to admit that Akaashi is very attractive, with a slender figure and perfectly toned muscles, one might think he was a statue or painting come to life. But as attractive as he is, he’s most certainly not Suga’s type. 

It makes him wonder if all incubi looked like Akaashi, or if a muscular incubus would show up if he tried to summon one. Maybe even a Daichi incubus. _Could he do that?_

He shakes the thought out of his head, scolding himself for thinking about such things and if the fever didn’t paint his cheeks red, the embarrassment definitely did. He slaps his cheeks a few times, Akaashi smirking as he helps him up.

“Thinking about Daichi?” 

“No,” Suga lies.

“Suga, you can’t fool a sex demon.”

“But I can try.”

Akaashi smirks and walks into the kitchen to refill the water glass before handing it to Suga, watching as he drinks it all, tail idly swishing behind him. 

“Give me your order and your phone and I’ll text Kuroo. You can eat it when you wake up, but for right now, you really should be getting to bed. You look terrible, and when we bonded I felt awful so I can only imagine how you’re doing.”

“You’re very caring for a demon, Akaashi,” Suga opts to just text Kuroo directly, Kuroo responding with a threat that he better get some good rest or else he’ll make him bevel the soap when it’s time to package the new batch. Somehow, everyone’s come to an agreement that the worst punishment is working with Kuroo.

“I’m just passing time,” Akaashi’s lips press into a thin line as he leans over and puts the glass into the half-full dishwasher.

They both know it’s a lie. 

Even if he hasn’t been here a long time, Akaashi’s managed to blend into their house nicely. Like he was always part of their family. Like he’s not a demon. Like there isn’t the threat that they’re all slices of cake locked in a room with him. He’s part of the house, now, and even after Bokuto manages to send him back, (and he _will_ send him back without getting himself eaten), he’ll still be part of the house.

“Let’s get you in bed, yeah?” Akaashi stands back up, pressing a hand to Suga’s head. “And no phones,” He snatches Suga’s phone and puts it face down on the kitchen counter, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shakes off a headache. “Prince Charming can wait until after his shift.”

“Are you okay?” Suga asks as they start walking towards the staircase, the familiar image of a witch sitting patiently at the top of the stairs. He ignores it, like he’s learned to do these past few days. “You look worse than me. You should get some rest too.”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi breathes, going up the stairs first. “I’ll just eat ‘an ungodly amount of sugar’ and I’ll be fine.” He holds up air quotes. “Can’t say the same for you. You can’t fight Kobayashi in the state you’re-”

Akaashi takes a step forward and falls into the staircase like it’s made of water. Suga looks down at the ripples forming in the solid material, a distorted sheen over the top of the staircase. Oh. That’s not good.

“Akaashi?” Suga breathes, watching the staircase’s ripples start to settle. “Shit.”

He looks around for anyone, but he knows that he’s alone. Is this the other witch’s doing? Or is this…

He sticks his foot into the puddle(?), to test. It’s cold, and doesn’t feel fluid at all, like he’s sticking his foot into a cloud. He wiggles his foot, and yelps when a hand wraps around his ankle, pulling him forward.

His vision blurs and he falls through the staircase with a small warble, his back landing on a hard floor.

“Ow,” He breathes, sitting up to find Akaashi’s wide eyes, still gripping his ankle. But his eyes aren’t on Suga, no, and Suga would feel more at ease if they were. They’re looking above him, just past his head, and Suga looks up, knowing he’ll regret it.

_Kobayashi._

Oh shit.

“What the hell?” The older man bellows, dropping the groceries in his hand as he reaches for one of the knives in its holder. “How dare you enter my own home, witches!”

Suga scrambles to his feet, hunched over as he makes his way to the other side of the room. Shit, this is bad. This is… 

_It’s go time._

And he isn’t ready.

Akaashi pushes Suga out of the way, knocking him into the table, and howls in pain. Suga barely has enough time to process what’s happened before he realizes the knife is buried deeply in Akaashi’s stomach. He coughs up a viscous black liquid.

It’s now or never.

Suga detangles himself from the table legs and stands up to face Kobayashi, the glint of another knife in his hands.

Do it, Suga. Do it now or you’ll die here. Kill him, or he’ll kill you.

Kobayashi pulls his hand back.

What the hell are you waiting for? Do it. Kill him. You’re going to die here, Suga, do something.

Suga reaches for a channeling medium.

There isn’t one.

The knife barrels towards him, and Akaashi knocks him to his feet, a deep sting nestling in Suga’s arm, and then, a hot wetness, followed by the sound of a knife embedding itself into the wall behind him. He hisses in pain, hand clamping over his new wound. Thankfully, it doesn’t feel too deep.

Come on, Suga, do it. Do it. If he kills you, he’ll know exactly where to find your friends. He’ll kill Oikawa, he’ll kill Kuroo, he’ll kill Bokuto, and with Bokuto dead, Akaashi will go back to wandering the eternal chaos on his own.

He’ll probably use knives to do it.

He’ll probably wound Bokuto first, since he’d be the first to throw himself in front of Kuroo or Oikawa at the first sign of danger, but he probably won’t kill Bokuto, no, just a fatal wound, so he can watch Kuroo and Oikawa die. Oikawa would be next, since he’s unpredictable and knows body magic. It would be quick, but not without pain. Kuroo would probably try something to destroy everyone at once, killing himself in the process.

He can’t let that happen. It’s now or never, Koushi. One life to save five.

_”Glasmwen, glasou, mare,”_ He chants, holding his hands out at the charging hunter. 

The spell ricochets and hits the table between them, dissipating with a loud hiss.

_”Glasmwen, glasou, mare,”_ He repeats, a bit more forcefully, the words like his second nature.

Kobayashi goes rigid, centers himself, holding the knife in his hand. Suga takes a few deep breaths, running a hand through his hair. Kobayashi doesn’t do the same at first, the spell taking a few seconds to take place. That’s not good, but it’s something.

“Akaashi, you okay?” Suga’s eyes flicker to Akaashi, who pulls the blackened knife out of his stomach with a heavy grunt.

“Yeah,” He chokes, more black liquid spilling from his lips. “No.”

“Akaashi, you okay?” Kobayashi repeats with a gag. “You damn witch, what have you done to me?”

“I don’t think it’s holding,” Suga looks around the room, taking note of the beading redness that now soaks Kobayashi’s right arm where his own wound rests. “Akaashi, you have any ideas?”

He looks back at Akaashi, whose body is shuddering, slumped against the wall, knuckles white around the knife. His eyelids flutter, and the foul scent of rot begins to fill the room. Well, he won’t be much help.

“I don’t think it’s holding,” Kobayashi spits out, hand raising slightly on its own. “You’re running out of time, witch. You failed. I’ll gut you like the animal you are. Akaashi, you have any ideas?”

Damn, so he really did need a channeling medium. The full spell must not have hit. Damn, damn, damn! How can he do this? No poison, his subject has a weapon, and the spell is breaking. If he tries anything physical it will reflect back on him, and he doesn’t know any harmful spells.

What can he do? It’ll be messy, but if he can just get a knife...

He looks at Kobayashi, red starting to form on his brow and on his cheeks.

_Oh._

That’s right.

“I’ll fucking kill you, witch, you hear me?” He shakily raises his hand.

_”Quies.”_ Suga orders, holding his hand like a hand puppet, Kobayashi’s mouth closing shut, body freezing.

Hail The Dark Ones for Oikawa learning how to shut people up and using it as often as he can. Suga barely has to think about it.

The fever starts to build, and Suga can feel the start of fatigue lap at his ankles. Like wading through shallow waters, but it isn’t enough to drown. He needs to go further.

_”Sursum,”_ He continues, the knife in Kobayashi’s hand flying out and resting on the counter. His body throbs in protest.

Kobayashi repeats the spells and lets out a strangled cry, taking a step forward. 

“I will make your death more painful than any in the past. How dare you trap me, how dare you think you’re powerful enough to beat me. I've killed hundreds of your kind! I am practically a god among witch hunters. You will make a great trophy.”

This isn’t working. He’s going to break free. He’s going to kill Suga. He’s-

_Check on him, one last time. The neighbor boy. If you’re going to die, you’d like to see him just one last time, right, Koushi? It’s rude to go without saying goodbye._

Suga stares forward, body going cold. Ah, right.

The black pages.

_”Specaerioculo.”_

It’s blinding, the amount of power that’s ripped out of him. He can feel it, in his toes, in his fingertips, and especially in the heat building behind his skull. But this time, he’s ready.

“Do you think he’s home?” 

Suga’s head snaps to his left, a small rippling circle showing him Daichi and Ennoshita’s figures appearing before him like looking through a window. Daichi peeks behind the curtains, being careful as to not be seen. 

“Are the lights on?” Ennoshita asks, texting someone on his phone, looking between his phone and his laptop with minimal interest in talking to Daichi.

“Yeah, but...” Daichi turns around. “What if he isn’t?”

“Then give it to one of his roommates.”

“It’s not weird, right? I’m just being a friendly neighbor. I’m not overstepping my bounds, right?”

Daichi walks over to a grocery bag on the table and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and a few snacks and bottles of mineral water.

“What if Suga’s allergic to the snacks or the medicine and I make it worse? What if he thinks I’m weird for bringing these over? What if he throws it back in my face and I have to move to another town? Oh god, what if the mineral water kills him?”

“I don’t think that’s… just give him the damn bag, Daichi.”

Daichi considers it.

“Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Ennoshita groans, closing his laptop as he looks up at Daichi.

“If you don’t, I’m taking it over myself. Besides,” He frowns at his phone. “I really want to see what’s hiding in that house. Before we go over for a Fourth of July dinner. There’s something… off.”

The conversation continues, but it ripples away, replaced with a weak scream to his right. He slowly turns his attention to Kobayashi, who’s been brought to his knees, blood dripping out of his nose, face bright red and hair drenched in sweat.

Wetness drips from Suga’s own nose, and he brings his fingers up to feel his own nosebleed. Is this all? Fatigue and a nosebleed? Kobayashi grunts in pain, hunched over, and coughs up blood. Suga can feel coppery bile boiling up in the back of his throat, and he quickly ends the spell.

This is enough to do it.

Suga willingly drops to his knees, his body heavy and god is he _tired_. He watches in pure shock, maybe morbid curiosity, as Kobayashi gurgles a series of incoherent threats, blood spilling from his lips, welling up in his eyes, dripping from his nose and ears. Suga can’t bring himself to look away from what he’s done, the man in front of him crying out in anger, in pain. None of them are a plea, nothing is a beg for his life. It’s just threats.

Threats and bitter blood, spit onto the hardwood floors.

Suga finds his voice, and he quickly clasps his hands together.

“O Mother of Earth, please take this man’s body under you,” Hot tears start to well up in his eyes, squeezing them shut, his voice cracking. “Return his mortal body to new ash, to new dust. May his sacrifice bring forth new life to repent for a life lost, a life that I have taken,” He sobs. “And see to it that this is not in vain.”

He finishes his prayer and covers his mouth with his hands, trying to capture his own breath, or perhaps to feel if he’s even still breathing. He cracks his eyes open, and watches. Slowly, Haru Kobayashi crawls forward, and then inches towards the ground, resting in a pool of his own blood. He stills.

_A fever like that would kill any regular mortal._

Suga can’t hold it all in. A dam inside him breaks, something that he had been holding in since the very moment he had been given his task. He cries, and he doesn’t know exactly what his tears are for. Relief that is family is safe, regret that a man has died at his hand, or perhaps just to cry, to free everything that he had been harboring. It’s loud, wet, ugly.

“It’s over,” He chokes. “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.”

He gasps for air, wipes his tears, retches on a sobbing cough and does it all again. His body is hot, weak, heavy, everything still around him. The room no longer smells of rot, but of copper, clinging to every surface like the carnage that leaks into the hardwood.

Everything tastes like iron, looks like a blur, and smells like death. 

Is this really what his father had wanted for him? Would this make him a better witch? A better person? 

The end of a witch hunter, the end of a life, the start of his coven acceptance.

Suga stands up and exits the room, just to clear his head, or perhaps just to be anywhere except the kitchen. Either way, he’s walking to… somewhere. Anywhere. He’s dead. It’s over. Next step. The body. The crime scene. He has to get Akaashi healed, glamor the body, wipe everything clean from the crime scene. Right, next step. Finish the plan.

They’re in his house, which means they’re on the other side of town. It’s an hour’s walk home, and he has blood on his shirt. Akaashi’s been stabbed. His arm is heavier than the rest of his body, and… and a little cold. He looks down at the gash.

Hell, it hurts, but at least it won’t kill him.

He stops, and looks around Kobayashi’s living room. A couch. A tv. A wife and daughter in almost every picture frame. His daughter’s pictures never show her older than five or six. 

A reason to hunt witches.

A barely furnished house. A minimal lifestyle. Nomadic. Easy. Just a few pictures, an altar, candles and matches. Suga lights three, repeats his prayer, and blows them out. A door. A wooden door. A wooden door to his left. He opens it.

Stairs. A basement? Yes, a basement. It’s cold. Not as cold as his arm, of course, but cold nonetheless. Damp. Damp air, cold basement, stairs. He shivers. 

He’s at the bottom. When did he? Doesn’t matter. 

The clink of chains. A whimper. A golden haired boy.

Oh. So that’s where you’ve been.

Suga falls to his knees.

“Who are-”

“You.” Suga breathes. “You were here the whole time.”

The boy, no, man, no, young adult, no, witch, looks at him. Blinks. It’s wary. He sees the blood, and he gulps.

“The hand…” The witch surmises, staring at Suga’s pale hands, and swings his chained legs out from under him. “There’s a key. He keeps it in the right pocket of his jeans, or I know a spell to break it. I just… if I break it, I don’t think I can do much else. Can you get the key?”

Suga can’t bring himself to stand up. 

“I can’t…”

“Can you break the chains for me?”

“I can’t.”

The witch breathes.

“You’re a witch, right? The one who stuck a hand through a portal? I didn’t know how to… teleportation isn’t what my coven specialized in…”

Suga can’t understand much of what the witch says next. It’s all just a droning sound, cotton stuffed in his ears and filling up his head. Does the witch know what happened upstairs? Does he know that he’s free?

“He’s dead.” 

The witch stares, mouth hanging open mid-sentence.

“You…”

Suga bites his lip and nods, meeting the witch’s eyes.

“It was my task.”

His voice is so small that he can barely hear it leave him. A whisper, a thought. Just a thought. The witch gulps, nods, and holds a hand over his ankle.

_”Perey.”_

The witch mutters a spell under his breath, and the chains rusting enough for the witch to shake free. 

“You could have done that at any point?” Suga stares at the remaining chain. 

“If I cooperated, he would have killed me easily. No mess. Not as painfully as…” He licks his dry lips, eyes dulled. “He killed my coven, my family,” The witch’s voice is quiet, and Suga wonders if he was always this quiet, or if seeing his coven die was enough to fully break him. It probably was, and then some. “And if I made him compasses… I’m sorry... It must have been your coven they were pointing to. I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he had actually found you, so the effects wear off with time. You were never meant to… I was going to die here.”

“He’s dead,” Suga repeats, shushing the rambling witch. “It’s equal now. A life for a life.”

“Equal?” The witch scoffs, shakily standing up. “Were the lives of my coven equal to the life of that scumbag?”

“Is your life so easy to give up?”

The witch purses his lips, and those dull eyes never looked so terrifying.

“It’s shameful to live on without your coven.”

Suga wracks his brain for such a rule. Usually displaced and solo witches get added to a coven with people around their age, like Oikawa or Bokuto. He remembers the day they showed up at his door, all eager to start their new lives together. He loves them, more than anything, and he certainly couldn’t live without them. For this witch here to lose his own version…

It breaks Suga’s heart.

“I’m really sorry…” He looks at the witch in hopes he’ll supply his name. He bites.

“Kenma,” He looks at the floor. “Just Kenma.”

“Suga,” He says softly and wraps his arm around Kenma to help him up the staircase. 

Kenma’s movements are sluggish, weak. How long has he been down here, creating compasses for Kobayashi? If he couldn’t do magic often, he might have had a fever at some point, maybe worse. If the build up was too much, how is he even alive? Has he eaten anything recently? The way his clothes hang on his shoulders says no.

“We’ll have to go through the kitchen,” Suga explains, holding Kenma close to his body, forcing him to lean some of his weight on Suga’s body as they walk. “He’s in there, but so is my-”

It’s the sound that cuts Suga off, not the growing smell of copper.

The sound of wet chewing and slurping. 

He sucks in a breath, and forces himself to look.

Akaashi is crouched over Kobayashi’s body, hands greedily tearing at the flesh, stuffing his mouth full of crimson muscle. Kenma gasps at the sight, and Akaashi swivels around, hovering over his meal with predatory eyes. His face is covered in blood and chunks of flesh, most of Kobayashi’s meaty stomach and parts of his thigh now missing. It takes Suga a few moments to realize that it’s not that _parts_ of his arm are missing, but that his _entire_ arm is missing.

Suga’s first instinct is to cover Kenma’s eyes, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. Akaashi pulls out some sort of organ and shoves it into his mouth, rows of fangs erupting from his gums as his jaw unhinges, throwing his head back and swallowing it whole. He looks up at Suga with soulless coal eyes, and bares his fangs, gnashing them as he claims what’s his.

Suga steps back, dragging Kenma into the bathroom. Needless to say, he vomits, his throat burning with the memory branded into his brain. So _that’s_ a feeding demon.

Not a fan.

He retches again, his stomach lurching as it tries to push anything and everything out of his body. To purge himself of the memory starting from the inside out. Kenma flops down on the edge of the bathtub, unnaturally still.

“Did… did you do that?” Kenma whispers. “Summon a demon? I know he had a scar that marked him as demon food, but...” He gulps.

Suga shakes his head and coughs, bile burning as it leaks out of his nose. He grips the toilet seat, letting out a sob. Is that how Akaashi would kill Bokuto? Tearing into his stomach, mouth unhinged like some kind of snake? Would he swallow Bokuto whole? Would he even be dead first?

He heaves.

“Should we be worried? If you didn’t summon him-”

Suga cuts him off with a wave, coughing through the tears in his eyes.

“It o-kay,” He says between gags, squeezing his eyes shut. “Safe.”

“Safe?” Kenma gawks. “You’re in here like this, and you can still say you’re safe? A demon! Only…” Suga looks at Kenma, Kenma’s eyes narrowing as he pieces it together. His tone turns bitter. “A Light witch would find summoning to be one of the ultimate taboos behind chaos magic and necromancy.”

Suga pauses, and then spits into the toilet.

“You’re Dark.”

Suga nods, wiping his face on his sleeve, feeling red streak across his cheek.

“I… I’m stuck in a house with a Dark witch and a demon,” Kenma breathes, running a hand through his hair. “What my fucking luck.”

Suga flushes the toilet, and looks up at Kenma from behind his outstretched arm. He probably looks as pitiful as he feels.

“I saved you,” He groans, not ready to get on his feet.

“And for what?” Kenma snaps. “So you can hold me hostage like Kobayashi did? Kill me? I should have known when you said it was your task. No Light witch would ever stoop so low as to murdering a mortal.”

Suga can feel his blood start to boil. He may not know magic from the books his father made him read as a child, but he damn well knows witch politics.

“You don’t know about the Light witches, do you?” He scoffs, propping himself up on the sink as he towers over Kenma. “How they turn to eliminating Dark witches to keep the balance? Justified as stripping a witch of their powers as to prevent them from committing evil deeds? Or just eliminating us outright? The Light may not stoop so low as to kill a mortal, but at least we don’t hurt innocent immortals for doing a bit of dark magic.”

Kenma doesn’t answer, not at first.

“The Light would never do something so horrible.”

“Not to mention stripping a witch of their powers reverts them to their true age, which kills most of us.”

In exchange for their promised servitude to the earth, witches were granted with lives four or five times as long as a mortal’s. They could still be killed, yes, but they would stop aging as a mortal the minute they signed their name in The Faction of Night’s grimoire. 

Not to mention the elixir of life that any skilled witch could brew, making them virtually immortal to anything other than gruesome physical attacks and stopping their age progression entirely for a few months at a time. It worked exceptionally well on mortals, blessing them for up to a year.

It was the easiest bargaining tool for Dark witches to use with mortals.

“That’s-” Kenma bites his lip, eyes full of tears. “The Light isn’t that awful. My… my family would never.”

“Maybe not your family, but some, yes. Just like how not all Dark families are as evil as you say.”

If Kenma didn’t agree before, he does now, but it doesn’t equal trust.

“You killed a man.”

Suga opens his mouth to answer, but another rather panicked voice stops him.

“Suga? I...” 

Akaashi’s words are shaky, meek, hazy, like he’s coming down from a high.

Suga cups water from the sink into his hands and washes out his mouth before he opens the door and peeks his head out, Akaashi sitting on the kitchen floor, nothing but a pool of blood, scraps of fabric, bloodied shoes, and whatever’s smeared around Akaashi’s face remaining of Kobayashi. Suga doesn’t want to think too hard about where the body went, his stomach sore from retching.

Akaashi must have the pit of Tartarus for a stomach, his body not having changed at all. Well, that’s a lie. Despite the blood on his face and clothes, the gore under his claws and what’s left on the floor he’s kneeling in, he’s practically glowing. His eye bags are gone, his hair is shining, his skin is supple and perfectly clear. Suga can’t help but take a step forward like a moth to a flame, but he manages to pull back.

Akaashi looks down at the mess.

“I think I ate him.”

Understatement of the year.

“You’re… in control, right?”

Akaashi’s face falls flat, his voice low.

“Did I try something? To hurt you, too?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god,” Akaashi sighs in relief, slumping over, putting a hand over his stomach. “Um. Well we don’t have to worry about them finding the body, at least.”

“I…” Suga moves around the table and finds a meaty lump that’s been cast aside. “Jesus Christ, Akaashi,” He covers his mouth, unable to peel his eyes away. “Is that his heart?”

“I don’t like the way they taste,” Akaashi answers matter-of-factly, gingerly picking up the mass of muscle. “But this is good! We can send it to your dad as proof.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” Suga motions to the pool of blood. “We just vanished a man!”

“I’ll put it aside…” Akaashi stands up, slipping across the slick floor. 

The bathroom door creaks open more, and Akaashi puts an arm across Suga, tail standing straight up, claws at the ready. Kenma peeks his head out, and Akaashi growls.

“No, Akaashi, stop, he’s…” Suga breathes. He needs the Light witch to trust him. He could easily go to the police and make sure Suga gets locked up for murder. “He’s good.”

Akaashi drops the stance, but his tail swishes with irritation. Kenma looks around at the scene, his eyes landing on the heart that’s resting on the kitchen table. All the color drains from his face, and he steps back into the bathroom, a loud retch sounding through the house.

“Who is he?”

“Light witch. Held hostage. Found him chained up in the basement.”

“And your arm?”

Suga looks down at his blood soaked sleeve.

“Not fatal. I’ll get Bokuto or Kuroo to heal it. Right now, we need to focus on the-”

Suga slips in the blood, falling right on his ass into the pool of blood.

“Shit,” Suga starts to stand up, cringing at the slickness soaking through his clothes, but Akaashi holds him down. “What are you doing?”

“Dragging you to the door,” Akaashi says, pulling Suga by his armpits.

“Why?”

“You said that the Light witch-”

“His name is Kenma.”

“Kenma… was chained up?” Akaashi opens the back door, summer air rolling in. “There’s our alibi.”

“What are you talking about?”

Akaashi looks down and makes eye contact. Kenma flushes the toilet and exits back into the kitchen, blocking the vision of the gore with his hand. Akaashi smiles.

“How good are you two at barking?”

-

Two hours pass of Suga, Akaashi, and a reluctant Kenma cleaning up the crime scene. They scrub everything clean of themselves, framing everything to look like dogs had escaped from the basement and dragged Kobayashi off into the forest. At some point, the sight of blood didn’t faze anyone, and the loss of a life seemed so far away. It’s not something Suga’s proud of, but it sure made cleaning up a hell of a lot easier.

Kenma didn’t want to help at first, but he quickly and rather painfully said that he needed to repay the debt of saving him, saying that he knows for a fact that not all Dark witches are evil, eyes glazing over when he mentions a childhood friend in passing while scraping Akaashi’s blackened rot off the walls.

A twenty year old witch, one that hasn’t signed his name in a grimoire yet, his family, his real family, not just his branch family, killed by Kobayashi while he was in class. He just happened to come home at the wrong time, got caught, and Kobayashi subdued him.

When he woke up, he was chained up, on his way from his home in Ontario to America, forced to use his limited magic to make magic-seeking compasses so that Kobayashi could take more lives.

It’s been months since then.

“Okay, so the dogs came from the basement, knocked a few things around as they were running around, Kobayashi dropped the groceries and went to open the door, and got attacked. Then he got dragged off into the woods. Am I missing anything?” Suga asks as he retraces the steps, his sleeve torn and turned into a compress with minimal healing magic for him to make it back home. “This seems a little too far fetched.”

“Mortals will believe anything.” Akaashi licks his lips, blood still caked on his face. They couldn’t risk blood being found in the sink with a blacklight, so they just cleaned up any traces of vomit and called it a day.

“I think it’ll work.” Kenma nods, looking over the scene.

Suga grabs the heart, which has been placed into a plastic bag. He cringes.

“If I glamor the dog barks now, someone might see us.”

“We’re too far out for anyone to see us,” Akaashi looks around. “All these riverfront houses are so far apart.”

“I want someone to find the house, soon,” Suga frowns, wiping his shoes on the grass in the backyard, hoping the traces of blood will transfer. So much for these shoes, and this entire outfit, for that matter. No amount of magic can clean blood out of clothes. Maybe he can get Bokuto to use the imps… “He deserves a proper send off.”

“No he doesn’t,” Kenma spits as he steps out into the backyard, Akaashi following suit. “Let his blood rot and keep Akaashi fed for as long as possible.”

“New issue,” Akaashi chimes in, looking down at his outfit. “How are we going to get home like this? How did we even get here in the first place?”

“I think we fell through a portal,” Suga sighs. “I may or may not have opened one to spy on Kobayashi… and Kenma’s been haunting me.”

“I’ve been what?”

“The spell, it kept zeroing in on you when I thought about my task.”

“What did you see?” His face pales.

“Nothing much,” Suga defends himself. “Really, nothing bad. It was when I stuck my hand through, too.”

“I thought I was being called back to chaos when I fell through,” Akaashi shivers. “Definitely a portal, but I’ve never known portals to be used to spy on people like that.”

Suga shrugs. 

“Whatever it is, I’m never using it again. I don’t want anymore surprise fights to the death,” He holds up the heart, and the three of them start making their way down the back alleys of the town. To be honest, they aren’t so much “back alleys” as they are forgotten forest paths. Still, Suga knows most of them like the back of his hand, even with only the moonlight to guide him. The witches’ spirits must be twisting the forest for them, because they pass an etched oak tree a lot sooner than they should be.

“Gotta admit, though, if I didn’t get shanked within thirty seconds, I would have complimented how badass you were,” Akaashi flashes him a smile, his teeth so white that they glow in the dark. “I’d be proud if I were you.”

“I’m not proud,” Suga frowns, glamoring a dog howl from the woods. “I’m never taking another life again.”

“Technically, your fever killed him.”

Suga snorts. As soon as the adrenaline started wearing off, the more the fever started to take over. He’s only able to stand up right now because of pure uncut anxiety and by clinging to the small healing spell Kenma was able to do before he started getting a nosebleed.

They continue walking in reflective silence for a while, Kenma tripping over a pile of dove bones and landing in the dirt at some point. The forest has always been nice this time of night, calming. Suga thanks the witches for giving him a break after such a long night, his hands growing sweaty as he grips the bagged heart. 

So. What now?

“Is it summer?” Kenma breaks the silence, looking around at the trees, basking in the building heat. “I lost track of the days.”

“Summer solstice was earlier this week,” Suga nods. “You’ll be staying with us until you heal, right?”

“I just need a healing spell, and I’ll be out in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Suga continues forward. 

“I have nowhere else to go…” Kenma bites his lower lip. “Well, there’s always… never mind. He wouldn’t…”

Suga decides not to question him further.

Despite not traveling in the direction of his house, he can see his back porch ahead, and he hails The Dark Ones for the Claremont founding witches’ spirits for guiding him back home. The moon is hanging overhead now, the hour probably late, but three figures are on their neighbor’s back porch. 

“Damn,” Suga holds his arm out, motioning to the neighbor’s house. “Guess we gotta make a run for it.”

“Isn’t running out of the woods a lot more worrying than just walking out of it?”

“I was going for a ‘so fast they don’t notice’ kinda vibe,” Suga sighs, groaning when he sees Asahi waving, Ennoshita making some comment that he can’t hear, but he can probably guess what it’s about. 

He’s lucky that it’s dark out, and that they’re far enough away so that either the smell or the sight of blood is out of reach. He gives a small wave in return, careful not to wave the heart in his hand. He can deal with the neighbors another day, tonight, he has to deal with his coven. No matter what, his coven comes first. Always. He opens the back door slowly, trying not to knock over the large bowl of water that’s soaking in the full moon.

“Oh hail The Dark Ones!” Oikawa cries out immediately, standing up from the dining room table with such force that the coffee mugs clatter and topple over, spilling coffee over the surface and into Bokuto’s lap.

“Oikawa, wait,” Iwaizumi and Bokuto say in unison, Oikawa stopping to get a good look at the three people before them, eyes directly moving to their blood-soaked clothes.

“Did you-”

“He’s dead,” Suga sighs, tossing the heart aside like a pair of keys, kicking his shoes off. “It’s over.”

“You went out to murder and you didn’t tell us?” Bokuto stands up, grabbing paper towels to wipe himself and the table off, paling at the sight of the heart as he picks it up. “And what the heck is this?”

“His heart.” Akaashi confirms, and Bokuto tosses it back to the counter, gagging.

“I didn’t plan on it,” Suga defends. “I swear, I just-”

It’s Kuroo’s face that cuts him off. His jaw is slack, his eyes impossibly wide, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, eyes fixated not on Suga, not on Akaashi, not on the heart or the blood or the mud they’ve tracked inside.

Kenma staggers backwards from behind him, pressed against the door, eyes equally wide. His breathing is shallow, rapid, and Suga hasn’t seen him so terrified. Not in the visions, not when he found Kenma in the basement or when they had been covering up a crime scene together. Absolute pure terrified shock, shaking hands and sweaty palms, clammy skin and blown pupils.

“Kenma?” He starts. “What’s wro-”

“Kuro.”


	8. Paradise

_”Come on, Kenma dear, you can’t be scared of him. We’re all witches,” His mother says sweetly, smiling down at him as he hides behind her leg. “Although,” She perches down and runs a hand through his hair. “We’re Light, and they’re Dark. Don’t you ever forget that.”_

_He peers out from behind her as she stands back up, out of the window to the moving truck that’s across the street. It must be glamored, but there’s no fooling fellow witches. They have a communication cauldron, and there’s a boy Kenma’s age hitting a teenage girl with a stick._

_“What if they curse us?” Kenma asks in a frightened whisper, his mother drawing protection symbols on their window sills. “Is that why you’re drawing those?”_

_“They won’t do that, Kenma, okay?” She doesn’t sound so sure, but it’s not like Kenma can tell the difference at this age. “I’m just making sure they can’t, if they do. Now, I want you to make friends with the boy next door. He’s your age, impressionable, and maybe you can sway him to The Light. Can you do that for me?”_

_Kenma gulps, looks at the boy that’s smiling as he runs smaller boxes inside to show his dad how strong he is, and nods._

_-_

_“Oh come on, Kenma, it’s one little spell to keep the ball in the air!” Kuroo teases, receiving the volleyball that he had gotten for his birthday, sending it past Kenma, who slowly walks towards the back corner of his backyard to retrieve it._

_“I don’t know as much magic as you, Kuro,” Kenma sighs, sending the ball back with a half-assed set. Kuroo hits it and it goes into a different corner, much to Kenma’s dismay. “Can’t you charm it to go right to the person you’re aiming it at so I don’t have to run so much?”_

_“If I didn’t force you to run, I wouldn’t be Dark!” Kuroo puts his fists on his hips and puffs out his chest with an (incomplete) toothy grin. “I’m gonna be the best Dark witch in the country, no, the world! I have to practice everything.”_

_Kuroo was always smiling like being Dark was a gift, not a curse. Like he was happy to embrace the fact that he would have to do dark deeds, submit to the scum of the earth, and to act in the night and harm others._

_Kenma never understood why someone would willingly hurt others, and he needed to save Kuroo before he signed his name in The Faction of the Night’s grimoire, lest he become a puppet for evil. He could never see Kuroo becoming something so vile, so awful._

_His best friend deserves better._

_“About that…”_

_-_

_Kenma doesn’t know what sound leaves his throat, but make a sound he does. It’s more of a groan than a moan, but still pleased, Kuroo’s fingers running through his freshly dyed hair, tangling in the strands, lips pressed against his, hungrily trying to take everything he gave. Kenma pulls away, panting as he tries to catch his breath, face flushed red as he stares at Kuroo’s chest, fists wrinkling Kuroo’s shirt._

_“If we don’t stop now we’ll have to go through a cleansing, Kuro.”_

_Kuroo smiles down at him, leans in, and places light kisses up his mouth to his ear, nibbling gently at the lobe. It’s weird, but Kenma doesn’t mind. Not when it’s Kuroo._

_“Are you saying you’d like to go further?”_

_Kenma smacks the back of his head and smoothes out his shirt, sitting up on Kuroo’s bed to create some distance. He wants nothing more than to continue, but he’s not even supposed to be here._

_“Don’t be an idiot.”_

_Kuroo smiles, resting his head in his palm as he stares at Kenma, eyes taking him in like it’s the first time. Glimmering eyes, so full of love. It’s enough to make Kenma’s heart skip a beat, even if he’d never admit it._

_“You’re worth any cleansing ritual, you know.”_

_“Yeah, well, you aren’t,” Kenma lays back down on his back and links his hand with Kuroo’s._

_“It won’t kill you to compliment me every once in a while, Kenma,” Kuroo kisses his hand, letting his lips rest against the skin, and Kenma can feel him frown. “Especially when this is our last summer together.”_

_“Don’t be so dramatic, Kuroo, it’s not like I’m dying.”_

_“What if I was dying?”_

_“Are you?”_

_“I might be. You never know when lye water is gonna get you. Maybe I’ll die from inhaling pigment powder. That’ll be fun, I’ll have so much glitter in my lungs that my autopsy will be like firing off a party popper.”_

_“You’re such a dork, Kuro,” Kenma scoffs. “Who even picks up soapmaking as a hobby? I already have seven bars, you should just start selling them.”_

_“Yeah? I just might, then.”_

_“Not like anyone would buy from a dork like you.”_

_“Ouch!” Kuroo chuckles. “But you still love me, right? Despite my awful business ventures?”_

_Kenma doesn't deny it. Instead, he stares up at the ceiling, squeezing Kuroo’s hand. How he wishes he didn’t have to sneak out of his house at night. Wishes that his mom would let him openly meet with Kuroo now that Kuroo’s sister is signed to The Faction of Night. Wishes that Kuroo would just lie and say he was still thinking about which side to join so that they could at least get a ride to school together._

_How he wishes for his parents to let them be together._

_But Kuroo has his heart set on being Dark, and Kenma gave up trying to convince him long ago._

_“Next summer, you’ll come visit me, right?”_

_“I’ll come visit you for as long as you’d want, kitten. We’ll get another summer together, okay.”_

_“That sounds like a promise.”_

_Kuroo slips his arm around Kenma, pulling him close to his body, soaking in the warmth._

_“Then it is. One day, we’ll get another summer together.”_

_Kenma closes his eyes, and falls asleep in Kuroo’s arms, hoping he could stay like this forever._

_-_

_Kenma moved to Canada when he was just 17, and Kuroo never came to visit._

_Kenma’s parents didn’t want someone associated with the Dark to ever enter their home, and Kuroo knew that he would never get to see Kenma as long as he was part of his family’s branch. Soon, the texts stopped and Kuroo fell off the face of the earth._

_Kenma could never get Kuroo to want to so much as consider becoming Light, his heart fully set on becoming one with the Dark, submitting himself to the blight of the world, the evil and the shadows. Even if it meant they would never see each other again, he’d stayed on his path of Night._

_He’d never understand why._

-

“Childhood friends, huh?” Oikawa asks, curled up in Iwaizumi’s arms on the couch, legs resting on a freshly showered Suga.

“Apparently.” Suga frowns, massaging his temples at the headache this night has become. “Kuroo is upstairs helping Kenma take a shower. I think they deserve time to catch up.”

“He kicked me out,” Kuroo calls from elsewhere in the house. “I’m just vibing on the stairs now. I kinda deserve it.”

His voice is pained, glossed with distance, certainly not the voice of someone who’s just vibing. Suga’s never seen Kuroo so melancholy, but then again, he barely knows anything about Kuroo from before meeting him.

He got bits and pieces, sure, like how his family let him do simple magic ever since he was a kid, that his sister and her husband lived in California, that his parents were part of a research coven in Maine. 

He knows a lot more about Oikawa and Bokuto, Oikawa being the only witch in his Boston-born family due to a recessive gene that came from some distant ancestor that married her way in, his older sister and parents both perfectly ordinary and rather strict about Oikawa not using magic around them. Oikawa’s nephew doesn’t even know about magic, and Suga pretends not to notice how much it pains him that his family keeps him at an arm’s length. 

Bokuto’s family, on the other hand, was more than ecstatic to have a witch in the family, his sisters going far enough to throw him a whole party. His great-uncle, (who Suga has met before, and Suga has never met anyone else so wholesomely southern) even showed up to teach him a few tricks and pass down the family grimoire. There’s no doubt in Suga’s mind that Bokuto has introduced Akaashi to his sisters already.

He knew all about Oikawa and Bokuto, hell, even Akaashi’s mentioned a few stories about being summoned during The Great Depression or how he misses dressing up to go dance to disco, but Kuroo? Kuroo hides himself, and if Light witches are involved, or the way Kuroo looked at Kenma the minute the shock had fizzled out, Suga understood.

_He was in love._

“Bro, come vibe with the family,” Bokuto calls, oblivious. “I wanna hear how Suga freakin’ merked someone.”

“The fever,” Suga says simply, feeling Oikawa’s healing spell start to kick in.

“Your… fever?”

Suga nods, and Iwaizumi makes a choking noise. 

“Well I’m glad you never tied me to it.”

Suga wants to ask how and why Iwaizumi’s okay with everything that’s happened, how he can just go with the flow when they talk about magical fevers that boil you from the inside out and how he could have unintentionally met the same fate. Then again, Suga remembers that Iwaizumi always spent recess as a kid reading comic books about zombies, went as Batman for Halloween three years in a row, had a Godzilla backpack all three years of middle school, and his bedroom walls were decorated with Metallica and Misfits posters when they hung out after high school volleyball practice.

It’s probably his dream to have something like this happen to him.

“So,” Bokuto leans forward, smiling a bit too much for someone who’s talking about death. “I gotta know. What happened to the body?”

Suga freezes, his eyes flickering to Akaashi, who shares an equal look of panic. Akaashi shifts uncomfortably, and folds his hands in his lap, gingerly covering his stomach. Suga puts a hand over his mouth, and closes his eyes.

Should he say it? Should he risk the disgust when he tells Bokuto just what might happen to him one day? Well, if Akaashi’s been fed, that means in theory he wouldn’t need to eat Bokuto, right? Then again, if he’s going to use Akaashi’s cake analogy, maybe one slice isn’t enough, after all.

He shouldn’t tell him, he should let Bokuto remain blissfully ignorant, thinking that Kobayashi is rotting in the woods. But then he’d be lying. He shouldn’t lie, not to his family, he should tell him. He should-

“I ate him.”

Everyone turns to look at Akaashi, who looks down at his lap, biting his lip before looking up and confirming their glances, coal eyes reading each face.

“Wait, like,” Iwaizumi wheezes. “Like legit?”

“Did Akaashi just say he ate him?” Kuroo pokes his head into the living room, eyebrow cocked.

“What about the rest of the body?” Oikawa carefully asks.

“The heart is all that’s left,” Kenma says as he pushes past Kuroo, making the latter jump, and enters the room wearing a towel hat, plopping down on the ground. “Everything that once was Haru Kobayashi no longer exists. I wish that you’d eat his heart, too,” He scrunches up his nose. “Get rid of every trace of him other than the pool of blood we left.”

“Are you saying Akaashi ate… all of him?” Bokuto recedes in on himself, hair drooping, growing visibly uncomfortable. “Like… not just little nibbles?”

“Yeah,” Suga sighs, covering his eyes with his hands, elbows propped up on his thighs. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, out of sheer terror that the image of him feeding will replay, and his stomach is still sore from vomiting.

“Even his bones?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you even-”

“Can we not talk about that?” Suga snaps, hand on his churning stomach, Akaashi frowning as he sheepishly turns away from the group, leg starting to anxiously bounce as he covers his mouth, hand still firmly placed across his stomach.

“Yeah, I really don’t want to remember the…” Kenma starts, shivers, and shakes his head like the memory is an etch-a-sketch drawing.

“I didn’t want to,” Akaashi curls up on the armchair, his form rippling between demon and human with his growing anxiety. “I was just so hungry that I couldn’t help myself, okay? I haven’t eaten anything other than human food in over a decade, and I put in a lot of seduction magic to trying to seduce Bokuto when I was summoned because I thought I was going to be able to immediately replenish it. I’m not exactly human, okay?”

Akaashi pulls his knees to his chest, slightly fuming, and Bokuto clears his throat.

“If you put in a lot of magic to seduce me, why am I still here?”

“Usually it works, and it works well,” Akaashi looks at Bokuto, gears turning in his head. “I only know of a few reasons why but most of them are unlikely. Unless…”

Something must have clicked, considering the look on Akaashi’s face.

“What is it? Is it bad? Is there something wrong with me or something?”

At first, Bokuto doesn’t look anywhere but forward, then his golden eyes flicker to Akaashi, who uncoils himself. Akaashi bites his lip, looks around the room as if he’s come across confidential information, and leans in to whisper something to Bokuto. Bokuto’s brow furrows.

“What’s that?”

Akaashi whispers something else, and Bokuto looks like he’s been faced with a massive revelation. He pulls back, and stares at Akaashi, jaw slightly dropped.

“There’s a word for it?” 

Bokuto’s voice barely above a whisper, and Akaashi nods. Bokuto looks around the room, his lips pulling into a familiar grin.

“Guys! Good news! There’s nothing wrong with me! Apparently I am something called ‘asexual’,” He holds up finger quotes.

“Oh god,” Oikawa sucks in a breath. “We’re never going to get rid of Akaashi, are we?”

“Be nice, Shittykawa, this is a big moment for him,” Iwaizumi hits him upside the head. “Congrats, Bokuto, and thank you for trusting us enough to tell us. You have our full support.”

“Thank you!” Bokuto beams, giving a thumbs up. “I know literally _nothing_ about it but I am excited.”

“That’s great, Bo,” Kuroo smiles, sitting on the floor between him and Kenma, everyone seemingly forgetting that Akaashi just revealed that he ate a whole entire human man.

Akaashi seems to share the same confusion Suga does, but it takes away the tension. It’s something, Suga guesses, knowing that Bokuto will be safe from being seduced and eaten, at least for the time being. Everyone congratulates Bokuto, and the tension starts to return.

“So, what now?” Kuroo breaks up the coming out party, the question directed at Suga, but Suga can see the way his eyes drift towards Kenma.

“Well,” He starts, not wanting to open _that_ can of worms tonight in addition to everything else. “I would send the heart to my dad, but I don’t think the mail service will enjoy finding a whole human heart.”

“You could glamor it,” Oikawa pipes in, but Suga shakes his head.

“Can’t glamor the smell, and I think I’d better just call him, and call him alone. The sooner the better, since I really don’t want to do this either,” Suga sighs, standing up. “I’ll go get my robes.”

The room slowly starts to vacate, Kuroo showing Kenma the last remaining free guest room they have, Bokuto going off to research his new discovery with Akaashi trailing behind, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi slipping into Oikawa’s room to do their weekly couple’s skincare routine.

It’s strange, how normal everything seems. How normal Suga feels, even though there’s an actual human heart in his hands. The heart of a life he took. He says another small prayer for the man, this time to the Christian god, just to cover his bases. 

Suga puts on his robe to cover up his pajamas, pushes the block of wood off of the cauldron to break the glamor, and watches as baby blue fire immediately erupts from the pewter. He grabs a handful of summoning powder from the pot on the fireplace mantle and throws it in.

“Daisuke Sugawara, The Faction of Night’s New York City office.”

Suga has always been taken aback by the fact that Dark witches rented a huge office and living space in Downtown New York City, but it’s not too surprising. He’s visited a few times, met a few Dark Ones other than his father, especially when he had to go with Bokuto, Oikawa, and Kuroo to oversee the passing of Bokuto from the Atlanta branch to the Boston branch when he had been accepted to a northern university.

There are around sixty Dark Ones just for the country, around two hundred for the continent, and about three thousand in the world, all acting like secret ambassadors and operating out of major cities. His father specifically oversaw parts of Vermont and Massachusetts, and loved to point out that Suga’s family branch was a “little behind” or “cutting it close” to the seasonal deadlines compared to the other branches he oversees. With the summer solstice out of the way, and a man dead, they can go a little while without having to do anything too Dark, but Oikawa did say he wanted to try out a new curse he’s been working on that prevents people from sneezing when they need to.

Suga could always feel the earth’s balance in the air, the way it swayed between Light and Dark, how watching mortals praised and demeaned each other pushed the edge in one way or another. Mortals were good at keeping the balance on their own, witches stepping in when it got a little too close to one side, but mortals? Mortals can keep the balance more or less on their own.

War that takes and gives, politics that divide and unify, life and love itself, they always seemed to have a bigger effect on the earth’s balance than witches could ever achieve. What’s a bit of magic compared to finding the love of your life? Or the laugh of a newborn child? Or the loss of something you once loved?

Yes, mortals are great at keeping the balance on their own.

“Koushi,” His father’s voice calls out, laced with just the smallest bit of weariness. He’s also in a robe rather a suit, and it’s moments like these that Suga remembers his father is only human, too. It’s also moments like these when he sees his own resemblance to his father, and he’d rather not think about it too hard. “Why are you calling me so late?”

Suga lifts his head and holds the heart up so his father can see. His father’s eyes widen.

“I have finished my task. I present to you the heart of Haru Kobayashi, witch hunter.”

Suga holds his hand out into the flames, the warmth licking up his arm as his father takes the heart into his own hands, opening the plastic bag and scrunching up his nose. He tosses the heart aside, and clasps his hands together with a wide smile.

“I knew you could do it, Koushi. I always believed in you,” That’s a lie. “And you have made me proud, even if it took a rather extended amount of time,” There it is. “You have proven your loyalty to The Faction of Night, and I welcome you, my child, to our ranks.”

His smile seems so big it’s fake, but Suga knows that his father is actually proud. Not at Suga for killing a man, but for making sure his reputation isn’t ruined, for proving his loyalty. A human heart. That’ll look better than just a message that he’s been killed, or a body that’s taken in by mortal police. A heart makes it personal, a heart proves strong, a heart shows that Suga took initiative for the coven.

“The other Dark Ones will be pleased, Koushi, as am I. You can access the full resources of The Faction that were otherwise withheld, and I expect to hear great things from your branch family soon. I hope you do great and Dark, Dark things, Koushi. With the promise of a heart?” He grins and turns to look at the side. “I expect many Dark things from you, especially after you’ve proven yourself worthy. I am quite proud. Also, Koushi, you look a little warm and weary, get some sleep. Dismissed.”

His image ripples away with the flames, and Suga shivers, stripping the robes from his body and tossing them aside. 

He’s never been so cold.

-

“I believe that we need to talk about this,” Akaashi says, laying on his stomach in Bokuto’s bed, Bokuto sitting next to him with his back against the headboard, typing away on his laptop.

“What else is there to talk about?” Bokuto gives him a short glance. “I barely know anything about this. Can I even be asexual if I’m not sex repulsed? Is that a thing?”

“Yes, but-”

“There’s a whole website on this!” Bokuto happily shows Akaashi his screen. “That’s so cool!”

“Bokuto,” Akaashi begins again, sitting up on his knees. “You do realize what this means for our arrangement, right?”

Bokuto looks up at him from behind his screen, back down, and back up, sighing and closing his laptop.

“It’s not like things have changed now that I have a different label to use. If I’m asexual today then I was asexual yesterday, and nothing has changed.”

“Please remember that I’m an _incubus_ , Bokuto, a sex demon, yeah? And you’re… everything that isn’t.”

Bokuto purses his lips. 

“Well, I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of sex, I’m just…” He scratches his neck and looks at the pile of clothes on his bedroom floor, avoiding Akaashi’s eyes. “I look at you and I don’t see someone sexy, I mean, I’m sorry if that’s offensive because you’re really, _really_ pretty, but I don’t know,” He meets Akaashi’s gaze. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Akaashi lets out a long exhale, Bokuto going back to his research. 

“If you just… ate someone, you should be satisfied, right? Maybe I could just, uh, we could…” He clears his throat. “Have sex? I’m not repulsed or opposed to it, I just… don’t really see myself having it?”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything, Bokuto,” Akaashi frowns, putting his back against the headboard, resting his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. “That’s not how incubus contracts work. The contract for companionship, which is something that I don’t get summoned for often, is fulfilled when you yourself feel a sense of… overwhelming satisfaction... from whatever I provide, not obligation to complete the contract. If you don’t have any desire for me in that way, then my normal services are null and I’m stuck here.”

“Why do you want to go home so bad?” Bokuto stops typing on his laptop, looking down at the mass of black hair resting on his bicep. 

“Going home will open other opportunities for me to be summoned. If I stay here, I’m willingly starving myself.”

Akaashi sighs, and his stomach growls at the thought of more food. It’s not that he wants to go back to chaos, back to wading through thick smoke under an eternally starless sky, only able to see demons of his own rank. It’s not like he has a family to return to, him being the sole heir to the Akaashi family. There’s not much left to inherit, especially with his mother having gifted a witch with her given name.

He needs to keep his given name guarded under lock and key, lest he only be able to feed off the witch under the contract of the summon. If Bokuto managed to learn his given name and bind them together, he’d surely wither away. Or worse, devour the poor boy.

“You know, when I was looking for a demon to summon for Suga, just to practice, I was trying to use the word friendship,” Bokuto looks down at Akaashi, and Akaashi sucks in a breath, Bokuto’s eyes impossibly optimistic. “Maybe we can start there? Work up to ‘overwhelming satisfaction’ or whatever?”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi pulls away, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe the contract is for friendship?”

“Bokuto, I don’t think-”

The door leading to the bathroom flies open, and Suga angrily marches in, toothbrush in hand and white foam covering his mouth.

“My dad is such an asshole!” He clenches his fist around the toothbrush like he’s trying to strangle it. “I called him, and guess what he said.”

Bokuto sits up, giving Akaashi an apologetic glance. Akaashi’s stomach pulls.

“Probably something along the lines of not disappointing him.”

“Yes! And he says that I have great potential to be a Dark One! Can you imagine that? Me? A Dark One?” Suga laughs dryly.

Akaashi sits back on the bed, Bokuto leaning forward to listen to Suga’s rant. Could he really do that? Change the outline of a contract to match the loosest terms? Be a witch’s friend? Would friendship be enough to send him back, or should he just take Bokuto up on his offer to have sex and see where it goes. 

His stomach growls, and he bites his lip. It’s been too long since he fed, too long since he was summoned. He waited too long to feed, and he isn’t too sure how long Kobayashi will keep him satiated. A few months, maybe, at the most, perhaps until the end of the year.

He looks at Bokuto’s legs as he idly kicks them as he lays on his stomach, Suga ranting about how his father expects him to be evil in addition to being Dark. What would his legs feel like around him, what would they feel like in his mouth, what would they taste like? His mouth waters in anticipation.

“Akaashi, you okay?”

Akaashi snaps away from Bokuto’s legs and looks at Suga, who looks like he’s about to replace the toothbrush in his death grip with Akaashi’s throat. Akaashi immediately stands up, his tail swishing nervously behind him.

“I have to go,” He says simply, ducking out of the room. “I think I’m getting post-feed cravings.”

He doesn’t want to turn around to see the looks on their faces, feel the shame or face their fear. He needs to be honest, for everyone’s sake. He’s a monster, and now Suga knows it. Suga has seen it firsthand, and Kenma saw the aftermath. How much did they see? Just how monstrous did he turn when he was lost in the high of the feed?

Hopefully his jaw didn’t unhinge, but he isn’t too optimistic. It always unhinges. At its full stretch he can fit a whole arm in his mouth, and he has, and sometimes in the past he hasn’t so much as waited for his prey to be fully dead before taking a bite.

He missed the taste of blood, of flesh.

He wants to tell himself he’s separate from the Hunger, that it’s the rational part of him being overtaken and driven by the pure demonic power that festers within him, the part of him that enjoys it. He doesn’t want to enjoy it, but he just can’t help himself. 

He loves the way his prey begs, the feeling of biting down into something soft and warm, the urge to just keep going until he devours everything in sight. His stomach growls for more, and he stumbles towards his room, suddenly overwhelmed, slapping his hand on a door and steadying himself until it swings open.

“Aka-chan!” Oikawa looks down at him, hair slicked back with a pink headband, his face bright green. “Shit, you okay?”

Akaashi stares up at Oikawa, and slowly blinks. Green? Is this another spell gone wrong? Oh, no, it’s just a face mask. He tilts his head to look at Oikawa’s bed, where Iwaizumi is laying down with the same headband and Kermit complexion, laptop angled enough to show a paused episode of The Office. That was popular the last time he was on earth, is it still popular? 

He should watch it sometime.

“Hey, Aka-chan,” Oikawa impatiently nudges him with his foot. “You’re the one that was knocking on my door, you can’t just be falling into people’s rooms, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” Akaashi sits up, his head dizzy. He tries not to look too hard at the two, his second row of fangs starting to poke out from behind his first. “I wasn’t myself just then.”

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” Akaashi licks his lips and gives a small nod, waves him off, and starts heading downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach taking the lead towards the bakery leftovers Bokuto brought home. He tears into the packaging, and some satisfaction can be achieved from ripping something open. He opens his mouth, jaw unhinging, tongue flicking out to wrap around a cookie, and he swallows it whole. He lets out a small whimper, sits down in front of the fridge, and reaches for another. _“I’m just hungry.”_

-

“Ibuprofen, check. Mineral water, check-”

“Impossibly painful crush that’s agonizing to your roommates, check.”

Daichi gives Ennoshita a flat look, and Ennoshita holds his hands up in defense. Daichi smacks him with a hand towel.

“Hey, man, I’m just stating the facts.”

“I just… want to be careful,” Daichi frowns.

“Being careful is the exact reason why Michimiya broke up with you, remember?” Ennoshita rolls his eyes. “Live a little, go crazy and give the pretty boy his medicine.”

“You!” Daichi turns a vibrant shade of pink before he looks down at the bag, covering his smile with his hand. “He is pretty, isn’t he?”

“You are so whipped, dear god,” Ennoshita walks over to the front door, the hair on his arms standing up. 

He looks to his left, and looks to his right, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. There it is again, the feeling that he’s being watched. He shudders, and turns to Daichi.

“Got everything for work?”

“Yeah, when don’t I?” Daichi motions to his backpack. “You don’t have to walk me to work, you know.”

“I need to get out of the house, meet the townsfolk, regret it, and lock myself away again. Circle of life, Daichi.”

“You just want pie.”

“Circle of pie, Daichi,” He reiterates, holding the door open for them both. He gives the room another once-over, and narrows his eyes at a small sheen underneath the light that hangs over the kitchen table. “Does Tanaka make lemon meringue?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Ennoshita turns his attention to the old house next door, and shivers. He didn’t like the house next door when he was looking for houses in the area, and he certainly didn’t like it now. He hates more now that he’s seen so many odd things, like Suga and two of his roommates appearing out of the woods last night after a rather oddly placed late night stroll, and he can only hope that the text from Kinoshita that he’s been awaiting will come up with nothing. 

He can only hope.

For his sake, and for Daichi’s sake, too. For the sake of the town, the world. No, he doesn’t like this house at all. He stands at the bottom of the porch stairs as Daichi goes up and knocks on the door. It opens almost immediately, Suga’s figure standing up, and Kuroo’s laying on the floor, holding his hand over his face.

“What the hell, Suga, why did you push me out of the way?” Kuroo cries out, and Suga tries his best to block the inside with his body, smiling up at Daichi.

“Daichi, what brings you here?” He looks down at the bag, and then to Ennoshita. Ennoshita fights the urge to narrow his eyes at Suga as he greets him.

There’s something up with this one, Ennoshita can feel it.

“I heard you’ve been sick lately, and, um, well, I’m the oldest of five so I know a thing or two about taking care of people.”

“Four siblings, huh?” Suga breathes, eyes wide. “I always wanted a little brother, you know, until my roommates moved in.”

“You’re literally the youngest!” Kuroo calls out from somewhere in the house.

“Not anymore,” Suga leans back into the house, and Ennoshita can see another new figure walk behind him from inside.

Just how many people are living here? It’s like a goddamn haunted clown car. He wouldn’t be surprised if he met five new people claiming to be “temporary roommates” within the week. 

“Who was that?” Daichi cranes his neck to get a better look.

“Temporary roommate,” Suga shuts him down and cracks the door behind him even more, his smile hiding something.

“Well, I hope to meet them someday.”

“You will at the Fourth of July dinner,” Suga’s mouth points into a disappointed frown. “You’re still coming, right?”

“We wouldn’t want to impose-” Ennoshita begins.

“We would love to!” Daichi says to Suga despite staring down Ennoshita. His eyes say “don’t you dare ruin this for me”, and Ennoshita backs off. Suga’s frown immediately melts away.

“I’m not the most patriotic person, I’ll admit, but the fireworks show they put on in Town Square is pretty sweet,” Suga smiles at Daichi, and for a moment, just a moment, Ennoshita doesn’t find it hiding anything. “I used to go all the time as a kid. Actually, Bokuto, Kuroo, and Oikawa were new to it last year and loved it.”

“It’s pretty great, dude, can’t lie,” Kuroo’s voice reappears. “They also have funnel cake.”

Funnel cake is a top selling point. Tempting, even if it means Ennoshita has to spend a night with potentially dangerous college kids.

“Kuroo, don’t you have soap to bevel?” Suga asks through clenched teeth, looking back into the house.

“If I had a little help…”

“Just ask Kenma, bond a little,” Suga rolls his eyes and turns back to Daichi, who hands him the bag as a new voice adamantly opposes the idea of soapmaking. “Oh?” He looks in the bag, trying not to smile as wide as he is. “Thank you, Daichi, I think it’s really sweet of you to think of me like this. I’ll probably be back at work tomorrow, and I have so many hours to make up for,” He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure this little break took away all my vacation time for the next year.”

“I’m pretty sure Tanaka isn’t that ruthless.”

“Oh, but when have you ever seen Tanaka take a day off?” Daichi stands on the porch for a second, and Suga’s smile broadens expectantly, tilting his head up in anticipation of an answer that won’t come. He finishes with a nod. “Exactly.”

“When does he go ghost hunting?”

“I’m pretty sure he survives on three hours of sleep and creme soda,” Suga sighs.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Uh, Sugaaa?” Kuroo calls out, his voice a little anxious. “There’s something up with Akaashi and- Shit! What the fuck! What the _fuck_ is his mouth- Suga! No! Akaashi! No!”

Suga looks inside, his smile falling into a look of fear, and his head snaps back at Daichi as he steps back inside and uses his body to shield what’s going on behind him. 

“Um,” He frantically searches for his words. “Akaashi is having some personal issues right now, thank you so much for the medicine, and I’ll see you at work, okay? Thanks!”

The door slams shut, and Suga yells something about Akaashi not eating raw chicken. Daichi looks at Ennoshita, and steps off the porch.

“Well, his roommates certainly seem… interesting.”

“Yeah,” Ennoshita frowns, looking over his shoulder as they walk away, the blinds all closing at once. “I’d call it creepy. You did just hear and see the same thing I did, right?”

“Well, they can’t be bad people, right? They might just be a little-” Ennoshita gives him a look. “Okay, fine, they’re very weird but I’ve definitely seen worse. I’ve been in the service industry since I was sixteen, I once watched a man just straight up order ketchup and mayo and just eat it with a spoon. And like yesterday, I think a real life serial killer came in.”

They start walking towards town as Daichi tells his stories. Asahi was the only one with a car, and he was at work, so they were often left to their own devices to walk to and from town. It’s not like anything was _too_ far away, or _too_ much to walk, but Ennoshita quickly learned to start looking for bikes to invest in.

“What makes you say that?”

“It was just… weird, you know? And not neighbor kind of weird. Like, genuinely gave us advice on how to find people to kill. Plus a look in his eyes that wasn’t quite right, like he wasn’t some crazy old man but that he had actually done it. And he kept talking about witches-”

“Witches?” Ennoshita’s brows shoot up.

“Yeah, Tanaka always talks about ghosts and demons and he just laughed and started going on about how he was hunting down witches in the town.”

Ennoshita looks over his shoulder again, back at the old house, the closed blinds. He furrows his brow, and turns back to Daichi, trying not to get lost in thought.

“Is that so?”

“I wouldn’t think too hard about it, though, dude tipped me a quarter and gave Tanaka a broken compass, so I think there’s already a few screws loose somewhere. Tanaka already tipped off the police.”

Ennoshita hums in return, pulling out his phone. Why hasn’t Kinoshita gotten back to him? It’s been more than enough time to dig anything up.

Unless, that is, there was nothing.

“How is Tanaka?” Ennoshita slips his phone back into his pocket. “You said he hunts ghosts and demons?”

“With the owner of the weird whatever store. You know the one I’m talking about? I don’t really know what they sell, but there’s always a crowd of teenagers outside. That one. The small guy that owns it.”

“The small guy with the weird hair owns that place?” Ennoshita asks. “I thought he was just another teenager hanging around. I don’t think anyone with a college degree would style their hair like that.”

“You know, I’ve noticed a lot of weird hair in this town. Have you seen the guy that owns the bakery?”

“Have you seen everyone that works at the bakery?” Ennoshita retorts, and Daichi cracks a smile, nodding. “I went in for a slice of cake once and it was just either hair gel or weird bangs central. Plus, I think they were playing with a torch.”

Ennoshita continues the conversation like always, but his mind never strays far from the possibility of his phone buzzing, hand always in his pocket. It doesn’t slip out until they round the corner to Main Street, stopping in their tracks at the sight of a police car parked out front, Tanaka with his hands on his hips, rag thrown over his shoulder. He sees Daichi, and waves him over, the police officers looking over their shoulders as Daichi stiffens beside him.

“I think they took his report seriously, I should go, since I was there, too.”

Ennoshita’s phone rings, and he immediately grabs for it. This is it.

“Daichi, you… go over there,” Ennoshita pats his back, stepping aside and answering. “Kinoshita, you sure took your sweet time.”

“Well, there was a lot to go through.”

Ennoshita’s stomach drops, and Kinoshita continues.

“Sugawara, yeah, we got some stuff on them.”

“So, witches?”

“They were in the past, not sure about now. Might be, considering they seem to be pretty active and somewhat powerful.”

Ennoshita curses under his breath, looking at Daichi as his face starts to blank. 

“Anything bad?”

“Well, we only record the bad stuff, don’t we?”

“What’s the most recent report?”

“About sixty years ago, but there’s some unconfirmed reports in the past twenty.”

It makes Ennoshita breathe a little easier, if a little morbid that something bad is still underfoot. His neighbor might be a Sugawara, but it’s not _specifically_ him, right? It could just be the name, someone who married into the family, maybe a different family entirely. 

Then again, there’s too much strange going on. Too much circumstantial evidence. There may not have been something bad in the past twenty years, but that could be equally bad, like he’s just waiting for the right person to come along whom he can use. He looks back at Daichi, and his stomach turns.

“Most of it isn’t out of the ordinary, well, ordinary for us. I’ll send you the files to your phone. There is one recorded case of a public execution in the 1700s, but then again, it was the 1700s, and witch hunters aren’t that barbaric anymore. But uh, I had my own question. Do I even want to know why you asked for this to be off the books?”

Ennoshita licks his lips.

“I think I found something, er, someone. A few someones, maybe. Not concrete, not dangerous… yet.”

“Well, be careful. The crime for the execution was enough to stop me from searching for a whole night. If it really is someone in the same bloodline, well, you never know. Just play it by ear. The minute you think you’re in danger, get out of there.”

Ennoshita nods.

“Yeah, I’ll keep looking for some more solid proof. Continue with some other persons of interest.”

“If it gets too hairy, call in the professionals,” Daichi is released from the police, sent back to Ennoshita with a pale and utterly blank look on his face. “They’ll handle it, convince them to give up their lives as witches and rejoin humanity.”

“I hope so. Alright, thanks, man.”

“Keep me updated.”

He hangs up and raises an eyebrow at Daichi.

“What’s wrong?”

“The man, the one I was telling you about earlier. We… We were the last ones to see him alive.”

“He’s dead?” 

Daichi grimly nods, and Ennoshita’s posture drops as he pulls him into a hug, Daichi shaking in his grasp. 

“I’m really sorry, man, that’s… hard to deal with-”

Across the street, he watches as Oikawa eyes the scene, muttering something under his breath. He takes a picture and types something, slipping his phone back into his pocket before leaning over to talk to the man standing next to him, the distance too great to hear what they’re talking about.

He narrows his eyes, and Oikawa looks their way, locking eyes with Ennoshita. He gives a small but very forced looking smile before pulling the man away, the man going off about grabbing him like this in public, calling him trashy.

“It’s closed for the day, Tanaka sent me home.”

“Let’s get you home, then,” Ennoshita nods and starts pulling Daichi back towards the road home, mind shifting into caregiver mode. He looks back at Oikawa, craning his neck to see everything he can, then turns his attention to the mass of crimson that’s resting on the side of the road. His heart throbs at the sight of roadkill, and he pushes Daichi, making jokes that they should have kept the medicine. Still, he can't shake the eerie feeling the roadkill gave him. 

A falcon, crushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a second and thank everyone for reading and thank those of you that are commenting, right now is Not Great for me mentally (I'm fine! Just a college student that moved back in with family bc of quarantine), and writing this story for all of you is something that's keeping me going. Thanks for putting up with my bullshit :) Anyways, this chapter's song is Paradise by Creeper


	9. All Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey everyone! not many notes today, just wanted to thank you all for your lovely comments on my last update for telling me to take care of myself, you're all so sweet, seriously . I appreciate you all so much. And somehow?? I forgot?? To put my social media on here?? Anyways, I'm @/oisugarights on instagram where I post fanfic recommendations, and I'll try to be more active there. There's also photos of my cat on my story sometimes, so there's that. Hope you all have a lovely week!

Suga pounds on the bathroom door, Bokuto softly yelping as a shampoo bottle clatters to the porcelain.

“Bokuto, I swear to god if you sing Fergalicious one more goddamn time I will drown you!”

There’s some movement, and the shampoo bottle is thrown back into the basket that hangs from the showerhead.

“Is Glamorous okay?” His voice comes muffled by water.

Suga considers it for a second.

“Yeah, Glamorous is fine, just hurry up, please, I still have to do my hair and makeup.”

“You’re just nervous for your date,” Bokuto sing-songs between an incorrect spelling of the intro to Glamorous. (Or, rather, Glamrous.)

“It’s not a date!” Suga whines as the water stops and Bokuto off-handedly twists the door to Suga’s room open, Suga immediately hit in the face with a cloud of steam. “Sure, yes, I’m having dinner with him, but so are you, and so is Oikawa, and that means Iwaizumi is coming, and Kenma’s here to stay because Kuroo is here-”

“Did you ever find out what happened?” Bokuto interrupts him, running his fingers through his hair, towel around his waist, looking in the mirror and Suga squeezes a too big glob of toothpaste on his toothbrush. “Because Akaashi and I have a bet going if you want in, Oikawa said he was interested but he hasn’t come up with his in yet.”

“Are you really betting on that?” Suga raises an eyebrow, slowing his brushstrokes. “That’s so irresponsi- what’s the pot at?”

“About fifty bucks.”

“Put me in for twenty on family issues.”

“Family issues!” Bokuto shouts, putting his palm to his head. “Why didn’t I think of that? I put twenty on Kuroo telling a bad joke that ended things.”

“You might have a point,” Suga spits out his toothpaste, Bokuto humming Fergalicious, rage building in the pit of Suga’s stomach. “Wait, how did Akaashi get thirty bucks?”

“He helped Kuroo send out soap.”

“He gets paid for that?” Suga scoffs. “That’s so unfair, I don’t get paid.”

“A shame, really. Hair up or down?”

“Down,” Suga and Akaashi say in unison as Akaashi enters, his hand in a bag of chips.

“Awe, but I like putting my hair up,” Bokuto pouts, letting Suga have the mirror as he puts on a little makeup. 

Akaashi’s wearing eyeliner and eyeshadow already, and nothing Suga could ever put on will make him look anywhere near as pretty as the demon. He keeps telling himself that it’s the seduction magic and slaps on some blush. 

“It looks better down, it makes your eyes pop more,” Akaashi runs his free hand through Bokuto’s hair, meeting his gaze. Suga’s eyes flicker to Bokuto’s wide eyes and puckered mouth, and Akaashi pulls his hand away to eat more chips. “Sorry.”

“I’m... gonna go get dressed,” Bokuto coughs, turning red.

Bokuto pushes past Akaashi and Akaashi holds his hand out for Suga to give him the brush, throwing the empty bag of chips away.

“How are the cravings?” Suga leans against the counter and lets Akaashi wash his hands and take his makeup bag. 

“Better than they were,” Akaashi murmurs, dipping one of the dirtied brushes into the foundation Suga never uses to lessen the blush’s pigment, giving a lazy smile. His fangs and eyes flicker between human and demon, but stay mostly human. Suga hopes it keeps for the rest of the night. “I’m not eating whole raw chickens anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“Why do you have them?” Suga closes his eyes as Akaashi grabs his one dirtied eyeshadow brush, Akaashi rubbing the excess powder off on his palm. 

“When I feed,” He says, getting close to Suga’s face as he presses the brush against his eyelids. “My body isn’t used to it, and it goes into overdrive. The demon inside me, all of me, wants to keep feeding. Like when you take off running and surrender to the momentum and can’t stop.”

Suga can feel Akaashi’s hot breath against his skin, the scent like salt and vinegar mixed with strawberry candy. It’s somehow pleasant. 

“That sounds…”

“Terrible?” There’s a grin dancing on his voice. “I’m just lucky I don’t gain a single pound no matter what I eat. I think I’ve eaten, like, three whole pies by myself this week. I feel absolutely disgusting.”

Suga cracks a smile, and Akaashi pulls away.

“How about your contract? How’s that going?”

“I gave up trying to seduce him, but I haven’t told him that,” Akaashi lowers his voice, still smiling, this time more fondly. “It sounded dumb at first, but I think giving friendship a chance is… endearing, for a change. Usually I’m used like some kind of doll or a toy,” Akaashi frowns, and Suga opens his eyes, Akaashi handing him his mascara. “I mean, sex is fun, it’s great, actually, but it’s nice to know that someone can look at me and call me pretty and ask if I want to watch that one unsolved whatever show on youtube instead of just putting their dick in me.”

Suga scrunches up his nose, and Akaashi runs hands through Suga’s hair to style it.

“Speaking of which, how are things going with Daichi?”

Suga turns pink at the thought of Daichi after talking about getting fucked.

“Well, you know those portals I accidentally opened on Kenma?”

“Yeah…”

“They stopped opening on Kenma, and started opening on Daichi. Not so much as it once was, they’re… fading. But I see a lot. Too much, sometimes,” Suga furrows his brow, thinking about the time he saw Daichi singing the soundtrack to Footloose alone in his room and god, he is _tone deaf._

“Oh?” Akaashi chuckles, nudging Suga. “Your own private showings? You know, if you watch close enough you can find out what he likes and impress him later.”

Suga gasps and punches Akaashi’s arm, going redder. Akaashi continues to wiggle his eyebrows. 

“No! Bad sex demon, no. He just… talks about me a lot. He’s head over heels, really, just earlier I saw him getting ready-”

“Was he shirtless?”

“Yes,” Suga says a bit too quickly, a bit too breathlessly. “But he was talking to Ennoshita-”

“Was he hot?”

Suga sighs deeply, and throws his head back with a groan.

“Hail the Dark Ones, Akaashi, he’s so fucking ripped,” He cracks a smile, trying to hide his face in his hands. “He’s so hot, and I am so, so very weak.”

“I can give you some tips, you know. Like how you never want to just go for it if you’re gonna suck-”

“Okay! No, no, we’re not gonna talk about that right now.”

“I’m only teasing, Suga,” Akaashi laughs. “Partially. I have advice when you’re ready. Anyways. What was he doing with Ennoshita?”

Suga tries to ignore his flustered face in the mirror, and he bites his lip before continuing, breaking out into a small smile.

“Trying to pick out a shirt that would impress me,” He continues, not even trying to hide the sickeningly sweet and helplessly _gushing_ tone of his voice. “Agonizing over it. It took everything in my earth given power not to just poke my head in and tell him the blue shirt fit him better.”

Suga finishes his makeup and pulls away, his hair perfectly tousled, his makeup framing his features without being too much. He looks… pretty. _He feels pretty._ Hopefully Daichi thinks so too.

“We going out for fireworks tonight?”

“Yeah. I think Oikawa and Iwaizumi are meeting up with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and Kenma and Kuroo are still catching up on lost time, but I don’t know if Kenma will be up for going out, what with the nightmares and all.”

Suga frowns. Kenma’s been having nightmares every night since coming to stay with them, every single one revolving around the death of his family. He doesn’t talk about it when he’s awake, though, but it seems like things have gotten better since Kuroo started tiredly trudging into his room after each unfiltered scream with a pillow and a blanket in hand.

“Did Bo tell you about the bet?” Akaashi lightens the mood.

“I’m putting twenty on family issues.”

“Family issues,” Akaashi breathes, making the same revelation face Bokuto had made. “Damn, I put my money on Kenma moving to Canada.”

“That’s a good one.”

“I think Bokuto is taking me to meet the other bakers,” Akaashi hums, giving Suga a once-over with a smile, giving his approval. “I’ve heard way too many stories about Tendou and I’m beginning to think he’s actually a demon and not a human.”

“I mean, you might not be wrong, and it’s only courtesy since you eat all their cakes. Plus, if you befriend all of them you might get freebies.”

“Shit, you have a point,” Akaashi leans against the wall. “What about you?”

“Tanaka asked me and Daichi to hang with him and Nishinoya since they want to get to know Daichi’s roommates better, but I think they’re trying to set us up, too. Either that or take us ghost hunting, which is the last thing I want to do.”

“Why? I could do some demony things and make it fun.”

“Don’t you dare, Akaashi,” Suga gasps, stepping out of the bathroom, stopping in his tracks when he sees a small laundry imp making his bed. “Um, Bokuto?”

“Yeah? What’s up?” Bokuto calls from his room.

The imp goes into the bathroom, and Akaashi comes sprinting into Suga’s room, jumping up on the bed, tail puffed up like a startled cat. He curls his lips up, fangs bared at the ugly little thing that’s innocently collecting trash.

“What the hell is that?” Akaashi hisses, his coal eyes narrowed into slits surrounded by bright red irises. Suga makes note that his normal eyes are actually just two big pupils, like a shark, and he shudders. “What the hell is that thing?”

“A demon?” Suga looks at the harmless little imp, who makes snorting sounds as it bows its head to them both. “Low level, but they’re still demons. Have you never seen one before?”

“Ew!” Akaashi inches away from it. “I’ve never seen something so disgusting! Oh my god, get rid of it!”

“Really?” Suga slips on a pair of festive firework socks. “You’ve never seen a low level demon before? They’re abundant, even I could summon one.”

“We can only see demons of equal or higher ranking,” Akaashi makes kicking motions as he crawls off the bed. “I didn’t know demons could be so hideous.”

“Bokuto summons them for chores,” A lightbulb goes off, and Suga grins. “Didn’t you start dusting the minute you got here?”

“Oh, shut up, Suga,” Akaashi sneers, pressing himself against the wall to avoid the imp. “Just make sure these little… creatures… are out of the house before everyone gets here. God, am I really categorized as the same species as these? Disgusting.”

Suga looks down at the imp, and nods out of consideration, following Akaashi as he avoidingly saunters of the room. They head downstairs to where Kuroo is, letting the rest of the imps clean up the kitchen while he sets out the food he and Bokuto have spent the day making.

It’s funny how Bokuto’s accent slips out in certain ways, like when he says the words mac and cheese, or when he talks about things that he used to do and places he used to go with his sisters growing up. It especially comes out when he starts cooking “traditional southern meals”, and everyone teases him for it, but it doesn’t bother him. He just knows that the real teasing starts when he freaks out over more than half an inch of snow.

Nirvana’s All Apologies plays softly, (or, grungely?), from the bluetooth speaker, Kuroo humming along as he comes back in from the back porch, smelling of smoke from their grill. Suga looks around the room, and Kuroo gives him a double take.

“You look good, Suga, new eyeshadow look?”

“Something like that. Neutral. Nothing too… drastic or weird.”

“Makeup isn’t weird, Suga,” Kuroo opens the fridge, taking stock of the many, many beers they have stockpiled for the night. “I’m pretty sure all of The Dark Ones wear eyeliner and mixed with the suits and the flames and the whatever, they look like some kind of reject emo band.”

Suga doesn’t want to justify it with a laugh, but he fails.

“I also have on my firework socks,” He shows off his socks, and Kuroo whistles. 

“Very sexy, but,” Kuroo pulls up his own pants legs, revealing socks with even more fireworks. “Not as sexy as me.”

“Damn, those are pretty sexy,” Suga clicks his tongue, and looks at the dining room table, where folding chairs have been added, Akaashi reaching out to steal one of the side dishes, tail still swishing in annoyance at the imps in the room. “Bokuto is going to get rid of the imps, right?”

“He should,” Kuroo mutters. “They’ll be here soon, and I swear to The Dark Ones, if we have to explain witchcraft to three more people tonight, I will lose- hey! Akaashi! Stop eating the hamburger meat, I still have to grill that!”

Akaashi skitters out of the room holding the plate of raw meat and Kuroo nearly pushes Oikawa out of the way as he chases after him. He does, however, succeed in knocking over an imp, who makes a series of displeased snorts. Oikawa points to the imp as he walks over to the dinner table and steals food. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard an imp cuss.”

“Can they, though? Is that what that was?”

“I hope so, it would make them more interesting. Imagine having them scream real cuss words at Kuroo as they clean up his soap room,” The mischievous glint in his eyes lights up. “How long do you think it’ll take to train one?”

Suga laughs at the mental image.

“Is there anything left to do, or can I go watch reruns of Jeopardy?” Oikawa looks Suga up and down, lips curling into a smile. “Oh, well don’t you look delicious. Hoping to catch a certain someone’s attention?”

“Maybe…”

“You’re going to watch the fireworks with him tonight, right?”

“Tanaka invited us both to hang with him, and he invited the other housemates _and Noya._ I’m not sure how _alone_ we’ll be.”

“Do you wanna be alone with him?” He fakes a gasp. “What happened to my innocent little Suga-chan?”

Suga gives him a flat look.

“Where’s Kenma?”

“In his room, sleeping. I don’t know if he’ll be down. Bokuto is trying to get the imps back to chaos, and we just saw Kuroo and Akaashi.”

“And Iwaizumi?”

“He’s on his way.”

“How’s that going?” Suga asks as he opens one of the few sodas hidden behind the beer. He and Bokuto are lightweights (which doesn't stop Bokuto in the slightest) and probably won’t overdo it, Oikawa finds the taste of alcohol “abhorrent”, and Kuroo can surprisingly but not-so-surprisingly outdrink the best of them. Suga has a theory that he found some sort of spell to raise his limits, but then again, Kuroo has an amazing metabolism.

Oikawa shrugs, but his smile widens.

“October marks one year together, and I think we’re going to do something special for it. It’s too early to think about that right now, though, it’s barely July. My birthday’s coming up, and he won’t tell me his plans, but I know he’s hiding something.”

“Why don’t you two go on a trip sometime, get out of the town for a while?”

Oikawa purses his lips in thought.

“If we can get the time off, that would be lovely, actually. He knows that I can’t leave this town without you guys, and he respects that. But…” Oikawa trails off, running a hand through his hair.

“But?”

“He doesn’t want anything more.”

“And?”

“That’s the issue, isn’t it?” Oikawa frowns, flopping down on one of the dining room chairs. “He had dreams, and he has a mortal life. He should be out there traveling the world, or using his sports medicine degree, or just… anything other than living in a small apartment in his hometown working at a bookstore.” Oikawa lets out a heavy sigh. “He’s here for me, and I’m scared I’m holding him back.”

“Tooru…” Suga coos, putting a hand on Oikawa’s head. “He’s here because he loves you. Love isn’t a waste, right? And there’s no reason those things can’t coexist, yeah? He can follow his dreams when he’s ready. No matter what, at the end of the day, he’ll always come back to you, yeah?”

Oikawa gives Suga a sappy smile and shrugs off his hand, holding his arms out for a hug, which Suga happily reciprocates.

“You’re a really good friend, Suga, you know that, right?”

“Is _the_ Tooru Oikawa giving me a compliment?” Suga jokes, and Oikawa pushes him away.

“Alright, I take it back. Kuroo is my new number one.”

“Ouch, that’s a demotion.”

“Fine, Hanamaki.”

Suga nods in consideration.

“You know what? I’ll allow it,” Suga hesitates. “Why isn’t Iwaizumi your next number one?”

“Because he’s beyond ranking.”

“Oh,” Suga blows a raspberry and pushes Oikawa’s shoulder. “So cheesy, I hate it.”

“Hate you more,” Oikawa lovingly returns.

Suga makes a fake lunge for Oikawa as the doorbell rings, and Oikawa flinches, making a face like he’s disappointed with himself for doing so.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch. I’ll get the door. And… put on something that isn’t Nirvana.”

Oikawa blanks.

“What do the straights listen to?”

Suga blinks, stopping in his tracks.

“Um, Coldplay? I don’t know, how do you expect me to know?”

Oikawa scrunches his nose up.

“Fuck it,” He throws his hands up in defeat. “Guess we’re playing 00’s rock and hoping Semi-Charmed Life comes on.”

“You know, if they were white, we could just blast Mr. Brightside. Makes them go feral.”

“I don’t want the other neighbors to get too lit,” Oikawa pouts, scrolling through his phone.

“Are the imps gone?” Suga asks as he heads over to the door, hand resting on the doorknob. “Is Akaashi in human form?”

He looks through the door’s peephole, Iwaizumi looking down at his outfit, fixing his shirt. Suga sighs in relief and opens the door, pulling him inside.

“Oh Hail, it’s just you.”

“Good to see you too, Suga.” Iwaizumi waves, immediately heading for the dining room table to kiss the top of Oikawa’s head.

“Iwa, thank The Dark Ones you’re here,” Oikawa hands him his phone. “Play music straight people listen to. We need to impress Asahi and Ennoshita.”

Suga looks out of the door at the house next door before fully closing it. He sucks in a small breath, and closes his eyes, counting to ten. Nothing is going to go wrong, this will be just a nice night with friends. They have food. They have beer. They have white person rap playing. They’re normal college age roommates, and everything is going to be okay.

-

Everything is not okay.

Everything is _very_ not okay.

Suga is currently trying his best to distract Daichi and Asahi with a story near the grill while Bokuto is discreetly drawing a suspicious looking circle on the floor of their living room, Akaashi, in full demon form, literally _punting_ an imp into the amber glow.

That didn’t help the screams from upstairs when Kenma’s nightmares hit, having to explain to the three mortals that his parents were in a very bad accident recently, everyone giving contradictory statements before Kuroo manages to tie them all together. It didn’t help that Akaashi’s magic turned unstable, his tail slipping out within thirty minutes of the mortals arriving, having to sneak off before the eyes gave him away. And it most certainly did _not_ help when they had to pretend to have a cat to catch the three imps that Bokuto had somehow missed.

Hail The Dark Ones that Oikawa and Iwaizumi can tell a better story than he can, because Ennoshita is a lot more curious than he had originally thought, asking about the house and Suga’s dad. 

He’s probably just being a defensive best friend, making sure Suga is a good match for Daichi, since the portals have shown on numerous occasions that Daichi trusts Ennoshita more than anyone. He needs to get along with Ennoshita if he ever wants a chance with Daichi, and impress him he shall.

“So sorry that things are… weird,” Suga says simply, Iwaizumi taking over the grill with Ennoshita, Oikawa and Suga sitting with their legs crossed on the folding chairs they’ve pulled out on the back patio. He takes a sip of his post-dinner beer, wanting more than anything to make this night just a little bit easier. Dinner had only gotten easy after they moved everyone outside, but even then, everything's almost gone to shit.

Daichi and Asahi nod politely with their own beers, a small shout of “there it is! Grab it!” from Bokuto sounding from inside the house, followed by a giant thud. Suga can’t help but hide his face in embarrassment.

What’s next? The cauldron bursting into flames? More doves? Having a mortal fall through a portal? Shit, he shouldn’t jinx anything. 

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Daichi looks at Oikawa, trying to feign ignorance to everything that's happened, and Suga has to keep himself from cursing out loud when he realizes Oikawa is wearing a shirt that shows off his witch’s mark.

Oikawa looks down and adjusts his collar, Asahi and Ennoshita thankfully turning their heads after-the-fact. Explaining their matching pentagram tattoos? Not on today’s list of things to do.

“Bad decisions,” Oikawa nods sweetly, his voice tart. 

“I hear that,” Daichi laughs, pulling down the collar of his (blue) shirt, revealing a simple smiley face. No color, no circle to encapsulate it, just two lines and a smile. “Asahi and I should never make decisions while slightly inebriated.”

Asahi rolls his eyes, and pulls down his own collar to reveal a matching smiley face.

“Our birthdays are a day apart, and on New Year’s, too. We celebrated a little too much that year. Honestly, I’m surprised you talked me into it, the thought scares me so much sober.”

“I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” Iwaizumi gives a rare smile. “But I’m indecisive. I don’t know if I can have something on me for the rest of my life without at least some regret. The current want is a giant ass Misfits skull on my bicep, but I don’t know, maybe next week it’ll be something else.”

“Honestly, you forget it’s there,” Daichi shrugs, chuckling into his beer. “Sometimes I look down and think ‘what the fuck is that’ and it’s just my tattoo. My little sister has one behind her ear and sometimes swears she’s never even gotten a tattoo.”

Suga knows the feeling. Ever since he got his witch’s mark, it’s become so much of a part of him that he just forgets it’s there. Thankfully, he doesn’t wear anything that shows it off, and hasn’t needed to explain it. Good thing he remembers it now.

“How about you, Suga? Any secret tattoo ideas?”

Suga thinks for a second, and takes a sip of his beer.

“Something for my mom,” The air goes stale, and he continues. “Didn’t know much about her, but the only memory I really have of her is her taking me out to the meadow on the outskirts of town and making me a flower crown out of wild daisies, so, a daisy, I guess, as lame as that sounds.”

His mom was excommunicated when he was just three years old, after she tried to dabble in the forbidden art of chaos magic to take revenge on The Dark Coven, convinced they had stolen her husband from her after he started taking steps to be a Dark One. 

A crime of passion, his father had always told Suga, because she loved him. She loved Daisuke, and she loved Suga. She was as beautiful as a white rose blooming in the snow, or at least, that’s what he’s been told. He takes after her, gets compared to her, and everyone seems to agree he’s like a small duplicate of her, but he can’t remember her. 

Just that one day with the daisies, which had been a few days before she attempted to stop time for three measly seconds, killed on the spot, and posthumously excommunicated.

He internally scoffs. Chaos magic. How quaint of The Dark Ones to despise it, but then again, it’s only ever been used for evil that even The Dark can’t condone, seeing to it that even Merlin, the best chaos magic user of all time, had become cursed by using a reincarnation spell on Arthur. 

Not to mention it was the hardest kind of magic to learn, not that it mattered, or anything. Even if he did learn how to use it (and get away with using it), it’s so vastly unpredictable and taxing on the body that it kills almost everyone who tries to use it on the spot.

It’s the closest thing to divine retribution you can get, punished for breaking the laws of the earth.

“That’s not lame at all,” Daichi interjects, a little too loud and a lot too eager. “I think it’s amazing that you would do something like that for her.”

Suga gives a small smile, and Oikawa clears his throat, knowing the story too well to let this continue. It almost distracts Suga long enough to miss the skeptical look on Ennoshita’s face. Oh god, he probably thinks Suga has mommy or daddy issues now. 

Well, he’s not entirely _wrong,_ but that’s totally not something that he wants to be thinking about right now.

Suga Hails when Bokuto finally comes out, covered in chalk dust.

“The cat is okay now,” He says, slumping down on his chair. “Suga, the cat may or may not have torn up some of your clothes.”

“What?” Suga blinks.

“Not many, just half of them, out of anger, but it’s all good now!”

Suga nearly combusts until Akaashi exits, his human disguise holding as he sits down cross legged next to Bokuto.

“I am… very tired,” He announces with a huff, looking up at the setting sun.

“Not too tired for fireworks, right?” Bokuto’s eyes peek out sadly from behind his bangs.

“Never, it’s been years since I’ve seen them and I’m rather excited for tonight.”

“Oh? Where are you from, Akaashi?” Ennoshita asks, eyebrow raised.

“Not here,” He mutters.

“We’re both from Georgia,” Bokuto saves him. “We uh, we played volleyball together in high school.”

What kind of cover story is that? Suga hopes Akaashi knows even the slightest bit about volleyball, but he isn't too hopeful.

“Oh yeah?” Daichi grins, shifting comfortably. “What positions?”

Bokuto looks at Suga and his eyes light up.

“He was the… setter. But I was the ace!” His eyes light up even more as he comes to a realization. “Wait a minute. Have I always been an ace?”

You can visibly see his brain turn into a system error.

“Anyways,” Akaashi turns away from Bokuto. “If everyone’s done, I’m sure the Town Square is probably already filling up with people.”

Suga looks at the time, shocked at the time. The sun may have already started to set, but it’s later than he thought. He curses under his breath, and stands up.

“Akaashi’s right, the show starts at nine, it’s already eight fifteen.”

“Is it?” Daichi looks at his phone, and blinks. “Wow.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone, sans Kuroo and Kenma, to start walking towards downtown, Daichi, Asahi, Bokuto, and Iwaizumi going on about some baseball team, Oikawa and Akaashi talking about some tv show they like, and Suga and Ennoshita lagging behind in silence.

“So, have you lived in town long, Suga?” Ennoshita begins, Suga sticking his hands in his too-small pockets.

“My whole life, actually,” Suga continues, giving a small smile. “Sometimes I think I’m trapped here.”

“Always in the creepy old house?”

“Yeah,” Suga sighs, but it isn’t a bad sigh, just a “tragic, isn’t it?” affirmation. “Not the prettiest house, but it’s home. For all of us.”

Ennoshita nods, and Suga can’t help but notice how the gears turn behind his eyes. How Ennoshita is almost studying him, looking for something. He must really be looking out for Daichi.

“What about you? Heard you were living in New York before you moved here. What brings you three to Claremont?”

“Work mainly,” Ennoshita says simply, lips pursed like it’s a secret.

“Information, right?”

“Yeah, not exactly the most interesting thing.”

“Sounds more solid than being a waiter,” The group turns a corner, other groups of families and traffic starting to gather close together. “I do love my job, though, all things said. Not that I’d ever let Tanaka know it.”

“He seems... very interesting. Can’t wait to hear more of what he and Nishinoya have to say tonight.”

“Probably something to do with ghosts or demons,” Suga mutters. 

“Yeah? Are there ghosts and demons in this town?”

Suga swallows, eyes flickering to Akaashi.

“Who am I to say?”

Ennoshita just hums in response.

“You know, Daichi is an idiot sometimes,” He says carefully as he changes the subject, as if he’s unsure of his words. “But he’s taken quite a liking to you.”

“I know,” Suga says through a fond smile, watching Daichi laugh and slap a hand on Asahi’s back. “Sometimes I think he’s the inexperienced one. If he asked me out on a date, I’d surely say yes, and I’m starting to think I’ll have to be the one to ask.”

“He’s only ever had one serious relationship, and a few little flings here and there,” They watch as Bokuto trips off the curb, Daichi laughing. Hail, his laugh is so precious and warm. “He’s too cautious, too scared of getting hurt. Falls too easily, though, for someone so scared of hurting and being hurt.”

“I think that makes two of us,” Suga stares ahead, taking in everything that is Daichi, and Ennoshita nods, Town Square approaching fast.

Bokuto wastes no time taking Akaashi by the hand over to the food booths, and Suga doesn’t even notice when Iwaizumi and Oikawa separate from the group, having seemingly vanished into thin air. He spies Tanaka and Nishinoya waving them over, and the remaining four people head over, taking their seats on the blanket they’ve laid out on a patch of grass.

Asahi goes to get them all something to drink, Akaashi and Bokuto joining Tendou and Goshiki on a nearby blanket, laughing away. He barely registers what Tanaka’s talking about, looking at Daichi. Shit, he’s so whipped for this man.

“-and there were police all over the goddamn place!” Tanaka huffs, Nishinoya listening intently. “Craziness, all of it.”

Suga turns his attention back to Tanaka. 

“What was?”

“Have you not been listening, Suga?” Tanaka raises an eyebrow. “Police, dead man, Daichi and I were the last people to see him alive, isn’t that crazy?”

Suga’s mouth goes dry, heart falling into his stomach, which then falls further into the floor.

“What?”

“Yeah, Kobayashi, remember him? You were asking about him a few weeks ago because gave you the creeps? Him. He died, didn’t you hear?”

Everyone steals a glance from Suga, and his heart starts pounding against his ribcage. Shit, this is happening. This is happening.

“Dead?” He squeaks.

“Yeah, real freaky-like, too,” Nishinoya wiggles his fingers. “Torn apart by dogs. That’s a baller way to go, isn’t it? Rumor is that he was keeping dogs chained up in his basement, and then they got their revenge. Police are still looking for the body. Tanaka, we should go look for it! Boys' night!”

His grin is wicked, twisted and sick. Suga nearly throws up on the spot.

“I call bullshit on the dogs,” Tanaka announces. “Demons, definitely.”

“Demons?” Daichi deadpans. “The man got torn apart by his abused dogs, and you’re thinking about demons?”

“You heard him with his freaky speaky, Daichi! Better than saying a witch killed him.”

Suga starts to sweat. It’s too hot out here, too humid. He takes a shaky breath, but not enough air comes. Dammit. Of course this is his luck. Doesn't make him feel better that he can still see Kobayashi's dying face, clear as day. He shakes the thought out of his head.

“He was probably just a crazy old man, Tanaka, he gave you a broken compass and told you he hunts demons and witches, are you really going to say that said demons and witches really got back at him rather than believing he was just a troubled old man that suffered from massive delusions?”

“I mean,” Suga gulps, trying to calm his voice. “Yes, the reason I asked all those weeks ago is because I was concerned. He was… concerningly eccentric, yeah? His death is just… awful to hear about.”

“He said specifically that he hunted witches, and then died the same day?” Ennoshita furrows his brow.

“Creepy, right? But witches aren’t real. If witches were real and lived here, we would know, right Suga? Noya?”

“Of course!” Nishinoya nods furiously. “Lived here our entire lives and haven’t met a single witch, right Suga?”

Suga wants to walk away, or to slip into chaos. Earth should just swallow him whole now. Maybe if he asked politely, Akaashi could just eat him, end his pain. 

“Yeah,” He says a little weakly. “I’d believe demons more than witches. I mean, modern witches are just people that buy fancy stones and incense burners, right? I don’t think a human could tear a human apart like that.”

Everyone hums in response, and Suga shakily stands to his feet after a few moments, his body feeling like lead.

“Where are you going, Suga?” Tanaka protests, and Suga looks down at him.

“I…” He tries to come up with something. Anything. He looks at Daichi, and swallows thickly. He needs to give everyone something else to talk about other than witches and not seem suspicious as he walks away from the conversation. 

Well, here goes nothing.

“Daichi, would you like to get a bit closer? To the fireworks, I mean. The fireworks are… better when they're... closer? Want to see them? With me? Alone?”

He grabs another blanket to hide his embarrassment, mentally slapping himself at how weak the attempt was, and Daichi looks absolutely dumbfounded. He cringes. This is a disaster. Tanaka pushes Daichi, and he wastes no time getting to his feet. 

“I would love to,” He says, a bit too eagerly, and he follows as Suga leads him through the park.

Well, no turning back now.

-

“Thank god Suga said something,” Tanaka laughs. “I’m going to be very angry if nothing happens tonight. My boy needs to get touched, sucked, or laid. For the love of all that’s holy even a kiss would suffice.”

“He’ll be lucky if Daichi realizes he’s been asked on a date,” Ennoshita snorts. “It’s like watching two teenagers discover sex for the first time, it’s awkward as hell. But really, what was the compass you two were talking about?”

Tanaka pulls it out of his pocket without a second glance, and Ennoshita’s eyes go wide. _A witch tracker._ He stares in awe at the idle compass in his hands, passing it to Nishinoya.

“Where did you get that?”

“Self proclaimed witch bitch Kobayashi gave it to me,” Tanaka takes it back, inspecting it with little interest. “I didn’t think much of it at first, but it moves sometimes. Not really all that special.”

“This is amazing,” Ennoshita breathes. “And… what if he really was… you know, a witch hunter?”

“Ennoshita, please don’t tell me you believe in witches.”

“Demon hunter, then let's roll with that.”

“I think he knew something about this town, something that we're looking for, and I think that Daichi and Suga have no common sense,” Tanaka snorts. “There’s something freaky going on with his death, though. Something… concrete.”

Nishinoya pulls out a small notebook from his pocket, squinting as he tries to read in the dark.

“I’ll add it later,” He puts it back and opens the notes app on his phone. “Okay, Haru Kobayashi, self proclaimed witch hunter, demon food mark on his arm.”

“Demon mark!” Tanaka groans, putting a hand over his head, shaking Nishinoya. “Demon mark, Noya! Remember, he said that it was a mark to mark him as demon food? And he just happened to get torn apart by dogs in his basement?”

“Are you saying that a demon ate him?” Nishinoya grins excitedly. "Badass!"

“I think so, and-”

The compass starts to spin in Tanaka's hand, and it points steadily towards a nearby blanket, Bokuto and Akaashi laughing as Tendou seemingly chokes on his drink. The needle quivers, slowly pointing right to the raven-haired boy, and rests still as stone. 

Tanaka looks at Nishinoya, and Nishinoya stares back. Tanaka looks at Ennoshita, and Ennoshita stares back.

The fireworks go off, loud and booming, and in the sparkle of the deep red light, the three of them stare.

“You said the weirdness started when Akaashi came to town, yeah?”

-

Suga’s heart has never been so heavy. Not a bad kind of heavy, but it’s swelling in a way that he’s not used to, and his anxiety is at an all time high. Good thing Daichi seems just as nervous as he does, slipping as he tries to sit down on the new blanket, the sky blanketed in black overhead.

Won’t be long until the fireworks, now.

But for now, his greatest enemy. Small talk.

“Sorry to drag you over here like this,” He apologizes, blindly crawling onto the blanket. Even with all these people, and the few streetlights, he still can’t see shit. Just the outline of Daichi’s face, but it’s enough to make him swoon. His smile nearly glows in dusk.

“I’m glad to get away. Spend all your time with the same people and they kinda get on your nerves.”

Suga lets out a laugh.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Your house seems fun, though, I mean, after tonight? Nightmares, weird thumps, roommates sneaking off to do who knows what. It’s a lot more interesting than a waiter, a nurse, and Ennoshita.”

“Is Ennoshita just a general term?”

“He’s in his own category.”

Suga sits cross legged, Daichi opting to lay down, propping his head up on his elbow. The crowds laugh around him, everyone lost in their own little worlds, counting down the minutes to when the skies light up.

It’s normal, and normal is exactly what he needs. A normal date, with a normal man. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that he murdered someone.

“You look really good in makeup, by the way,” Daichi admits offhandedly. “I mean, if that’s not overstepping-”

“Thank you, Daichi,” Suga accepts the compliment, heart throbbing lightly in his chest. “You look nice in that shirt, too.”

“To be honest, I spent a long time deciding between two shirts.”

“Trying to impress someone?” Suga smirks, putting his hands behind him on the fabric, his fingertips brushing against the grass. “Impress me?”

“I, uh-”

“You don’t have to answer that, Daichi, I’m only teasing.”

Daichi gives him a flat look, but doesn't look too annoyed.

“You’re kind of mischievous, aren’t you?”

Suga smiles, which probably doesn't help his case.

“Only a little.”

“A devil in disguise, perhaps?”

Oh, if only you knew, Daichi.

“Why, is that something you’re into?”

If Suga could see Daichi, he’d probably be blushing, considering how quiet he’s gotten. But then again, he’s no better, his neck heating up as his fingers go cold. They sit there for a short minute, but thankfully, (thankfully), it's comfortable. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He finds himself saying.

“Yeah, the festival seems to be huge, are they always like this?” Daichi gestures vaguely around them.

“I meant this,” He motions between them. “Us.” Daichi’s breath hitches for a split second, and Suga continues. “I… I know you like me, Daichi, and I’m really flattered.”

“But?” Daichi sucks in a breath.

“But?” Suga stares blankly. “But nothing. End of sentence.”

“Oh,” Daichi breathes through an upward lip twitch. "I'm... really glad about that, Suga."

Suga does something he’s never done before, and scoots over closer to Daichi, heart on his sleeve.

It feels sinful, something as small and innocent as this. Memories of his father telling him that lust is meant to be saved until after his 21st birthday flash in his mind, and he grimaces. Not at the fact his father basically kept him in a metaphorical (but possibly very real if he could, let’s be honest here) chastity belt, but because he’s been freed, welcomed to the coven, this is encouraged.

This is something he’s allowed to feel, and years of suppression are now exploding inside of him, his heart barely contained by his own chest cavity and ribs, a pleasant warmth building in his stomach like a small fire.

He wants this, and he’s never wanted anything more. To be someone to Daichi, to be someone that Daichi laughs with, laughs at, someone he cares about. Someone to care for. 

He’s not his father, and he’s not his mother, either.

He’s allowed to have a healthy relationship with someone he wants to get to know better.

And gods, he wants it. He wants this more than anything.

The first fireworks explode overhead, Suga jumping as Daichi chuckles, illuminated in bright red as his heart nearly drops out of his chest. He laughs at himself, and looks up as a streak of purple whistles overhead, a loud boom resonating overhead before the soft crackles rain down. A pleasant sound, he thinks, better than the intrusive thoughts, the sound of doves and crows thumping against windows, the sound of mortal death or the wet slurp of a demon feeding.

This… this is pleasant. This is blue, and red, and yellow, and green. It’s whistles and children screeching happily, the oohs and aahs of a crowd, the soft touch of Daichi’s skin grazing his shoulder as he lays down, staring upwards. The warmth of another body next to his, the clasp of fingers as he intertwines himself. 

The fingers intertwine back. 

A streak of white, then a burst of yellow, stars still scattered in the still sky as the embers elegantly float down like feathers. Another boom, another burst of blue. It’s bright, and he squeezes his hand. 

The hand squeezes back. 

A whisper in awe, a crackle of the sky. Another streak. Another crackle. Another whisper. He blinks. More warmth, closer now. _Closer._ A body next to him. A flash of green, a head tilted to his right. A hand, searching. 

The face turns back.

Another boom, a happy crackle. A smile that glows in the dark, eyes meet. A hand touches a face, another boom. A giggle escapes. A burst of purple, lips touch lips. Hungry, parted, soft. Eyes closed. Pull back. Breathless. Another boom, more purple, a pleasant fire burning in his stomach.

The lips kiss back.


	10. Creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! It's finals week at my college, but after this week I'm totally free to write for a month, so updates might come a little quicker until my next semester starts up again. Thanks for hanging in there! This chapter's song is Creature by Bones.

Ennoshita wouldn’t call himself a _witch hunter._

No, far from it. He’s just the information guy, the person that gathers and keeps files, no, he’s definitely _not_ a witch hunter. His parents are the _real_ witch hunters. All he has to do is go where he’s been sent, collect information on possible magical anomalies, and report his findings back to “witch hunter HQ” or whatever company it is he really works for, and he gets paid.

He didn’t expect his new house to be literally _right next door_ to a possible coven.

And if a Sugawara lived there, well, his chances weren’t looking good.

He stares at the computer screen, the files Kinoshita had sent him transferred over, every file on every Sugawara witch pulled up, a new file open with a blank screen save for the name “Sugawara, Koushi” in big bold letters.

He looks back at the files, dating all the way back to some of the primary archives. There was Kikyo Sugawara, who in 1589 had cursed an entire bloodline of witch hunters and taken the head of the patriarch as a trophy. There was Yukio Sugawara, who in 1690 had somehow escaped his own trial and execution, bringing forth a plague to the land that tried to damn him. There were a few unnamed Sugawara’s, their crimes ranging from small speculation to minor arson to a 1723 public execution in which the witch was beheaded, set on fire, and had his ashes scattered in the ocean.

The most recent is that of an unnamed D. Sugawara, born in the early 1900s, who is supposedly working with “The Dark One”. Ennoshita shivers, a chill running up his spine. Why did witches always have to call Satan “The Dark One”? Why can’t they just call him master and move on?

But then again, if there’s no confirmed cases of any more members of the bloodline, and the most recent case being about sixty years ago… then what exactly is the Sugawara he met? Unrelated, unconfirmed, or just… not even human? With all this talk of demons, maybe, just maybe… 

He adds a bullet point to the Koushi file, but the small type bar blinks back at him, staring like some sort of eye, and the hair on his arms stand up straight. He sighs, and adds a simple “to be determined”, and closes his laptop, standing up and stretching his legs. 

He looks at the time, and sighs even heavier. 

If he’s going to do this, he needs to follow the rules his parents drilled into his mind, the ones that’ll keep him alive. One, don’t trust anyone. That’s a given, but he’s already failed that one, trusting his roommates, Narita, and Kinoshita more than anyone else, but they’re either mortals or allies he’s known for a substantial amount of time, so there’s no harm done. Two, don’t tell anyone you’re a witch hunter. He’s got that one under wraps. Anyone who knows, mortal or not, puts him and his loved ones in danger. They could sell him out, torture him, get tortured… It’s not a situation he wants to put someone in. 

And three, witches aren’t the only thing in this world to look out for.

He can’t believe he’s about to do this.

-

“Hey! Ennoshita! Thanks for joining us!” Nishinoya excitedly jumps up and down, Ennoshita giving a small wave as he meets them at the forest edge on the other side of town. 

Tanaka was, to say the least, shocked that Ennoshita would agree to go demon hunting with them, but hey, a fresh face might provide new insight. And new insight is exactly what he needs, especially after finding a possible demon.

“Why are we meeting here?” Ennoshita looks at the forest path, a few houses in the distance, the river rushing nearby.

“Because,” Tanaka holds up a finger like he has the authority. “We are going to check out the house for ourselves. A possible demon in our town and then a man getting torn apart? Seems a little sus to me.”

“You mean breaking and entering?” Ennoshita hisses.

“It’s not breaking and entering if no one lives there,” Nishinoya scrunches his brow, looking at Tanaka. “If it is, we’re in trouble. But, whatever, the police are done with the case and we need answers.”

“Noya, you do realize that I said we’re just checking out the exterior and the forest around it, right?” Tanaka lowers his finger. “Wait, you wanted to break into a crime scene? We aren’t that stupid, idiot.”

Nishinoya produces a small zipped pack from his pocket.

“Yeah, I brought my lock picking kit and everything-”

“So we’re not breaking and entering?” Ennoshita exhales, relief spreading across his expression.

“No,” Tanaka confirms. “Maybe some other time, abandoned buildings and such, but not a house. That’s disrespectful-”

“And we’d get caught.”

“And we’d get caught.” Tanaka nods.

Ennoshita looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. Tanaka puts a hand on his back and leads him down the forest path, only their phone flashlights lighting up the night. Tanaka’s been through worse in these woods, like when his sister chased him through the woods on Halloween when he was a kid pretending to be a monster. It’s fine. He’s totally not traumatized.

It’s fine.

Really.

“Anything new on Akaashi?”

“No,” Ennoshita shakes his head. “Nothing other than the usual weirdness.”

“Which is…”

Ennoshita bites his lip.

“Do you think they could all be demons?”

“Well,” Tanaka slinks his arm around Ennoshita’s shoulders. “I think I’d know if my best buddy was a demon. Sure, the man he was asking about disappeared with copious amounts of blood found in his house. Sure, he’s always been a little weird and may have caused mass nosebleeds. Sure he has weird roommates that have enhanced all the weirdness and-” He stops short. “Nishinoya, I think Suga might be a demon.”

“I’ll add it to the notebook.”

The three of them walk until they reach the end of the main path, turning onto a side path, and Ennoshita stops in his tracks. Tanaka steps deeper into the forest, but turns around, eyeing Ennoshita’s fear.

“We go in these woods all the time, by the way. It’s safe.”

Ennoshita shakes his head. 

“I don’t like the feeling I’m getting,” He says as a violent shiver rips through him. “I really _really_ don’t like the feeling I’m getting.”

There’s a sort of panic in his eyes, but Nishinoya gets behind him and continues to push, Ennoshita stumbling over his own two feet as they drag him further into the forest they’ve spent most of their lives in. This is fine, they’ve been here before. There’s nothing in these woods that they haven’t already seen.

They’re here now to see if anything’s changed. That’s when they should get concerned.

The trio pass by a large arching tree, flashlights at the ready as they walk for a short while, Ennoshita starting to lag behind the other two, hand over his stomach, intense worry reading across his face.

“Hey, Ennoshita, we can turn back if you feel that bad,” Tanaka side eyes him, an owl hooting in the distance.

“No, I… _we_ need answers,” Ennoshita shakes his head. “I can deal with a little discomfort.”

“You look like you’re about to vomit,” Nishinoya flatly points out, inspecting a moss covered rock. “Or explode.”

“Just… bad feelings. Like I’m being watched.”

“Yeah, these woods are totally haunted,” Tanaka laughs, slapping a hand on Ennoshita’s back. “Nothing evil, though. I mean, the old graveyard was out here at some point, and there was a hanging tree, so I’d assume there’s at least a few wandering souls that are out here.”

“Hanging tree…” Ennoshita solemnly begins. “Great.”

Nishinoya lets out a dry laugh, and slaps the spot Tanaka had just hit.

“Don’t worry! It’s fine! I mean, sometimes you find weird things like a pile of dead doves and other times you walk for hours only to end up five minutes away from where you started, but these woods aren’t dangerous!”

“That sounds absolutely horrifying.”

Tanaka steps over a short log and shrugs, Nishinoya following behind him.

“It is what it is.”

“I think the ghosts like us.”

“I mean, who doesn’t like us?” Tanaka points his nose up to the sky. “Right, Ennoshita?”

It doesn’t take but five seconds for Nishinoya’s flashlight to start swinging around behind him, slowing his pace to a stop.

“Where the hell did Ennoshita go?”

Tanaka spins around, but there’s no sign of Ennoshita. His heart immediately drops into his stomach, his mouth instantly dry as a bone.

“What the hell?” Nishinoya scans the area. “He was right behind us.”

“Did he turn around?”

“Dunno. Maybe he got scared,” He continues warily. “Maybe the ghosts don’t like him as much as we do.”

Tanaka furrows his brow.

“Don’t joke about shit like that, Noya. He was right here. What the fuck happened?”

“Maybe you freaked him out with your ghost talk. I mean, we’ve never actually proven there are ghosts here, we don’t even know if these woods _are_ haunted.”

Tanaka puts his hands on his hips, the light shining on a patch of pale trees in the distance, not noticing the vaguely human figures that watch from under the branches.

“Don’t act like you weren’t the one talking about dove piles.”

“I’m only being honest.”

“Noya, part of our kickass ghost hunting trio just got evaporated, don’t you see an issue here?”

Noya stares at him, his face underlit from the flashlight as he bites his lip.

“Do you want me to add it to the journal?”

Tanaka lets out a frustrated groan.

“We need to find him, dumbass, there’s miles of these woods, he could be wandering out here for days.”

“We aren’t too far from the entrance, and there’s paths. It’s not like he could have gotten far,” Nishinoya pushes ahead. “Should we call for help? Maybe he’s just playing a joke on us? I mean, there’s no way he could have just disappeared, right? Demons and ghosts can’t do that."

“No, I don’t think he would do that. We all wanted answers, he’s a true believer. In demons, ghosts. _Us._ He wouldn’t just… go away like that.”

His stomach starts to clench, the trees he called home starting to look less and less like the ones he’s used to. Familiar, but so foreign, like fingers reaching out of the ground, the ground beneath them pulling and tugging like it’s alive. Tanaka’s breath hitches in his throat, and they continue on. Maybe Ennoshita really had turned around and walked away, he did seem rather scared, after all. But then again, these woods tend to have a sort of mind of their own. Always have.

Trees that look suspiciously similar to one another make double appearances while walking in a straight line, you can walk north and end up passing the same stream twice, and Tanaka could have sworn that the big arching oak they just passed under was on the other side of town. They’ve been walking for fifteen minutes now, calling out Ennoshita’s name, and Nishinoya keeps pointing out the same mossy rock they’ve passed three times, taking a picture every single time, talking about making note of it in their collection of evidence.

But hey, despite the creepy forest that moves and shifts like the hogwarts staircases, nothing bad ever happened to them in these woods before, so what’s the worst that could happen now? What’s different other than having brought Ennoshita with them?

A scream in the distance breaks Tanaka’s stream of consciousness, and he looks at Nishinoya with wide eyes. Nishinoya grins back, a mischievous glint flickering across his face.

“Found him!” He announces, happily skipping off towards the source.

In retrospect, this might have been a bad call. Scream in the woods in the middle of the night? Not exactly something that happens when something good happens, especially when someone in your demon hunting party has gone missing. But still, they run, and run, and another scream leads them to a darkened figure crouched over a squirming body in the middle of a clearing full of daisies. 

Tanaka throws his arm out in front of Nishinoya in full-blown panic, the latter crashing into the arm and falling backwards to the ground, the figure, creature(?) on top jerking its head to look at them, another shout resonating as the pinned down figure kicks and frees himself. It scrambles to its feet towards Tanaka, Ennoshita’s fear-stricken face becoming clearer as he approaches.

A breath of relief passes his lips, but he sucks it back in as he looks back at the creature, his flashlight shining on ashen hair, a pale face and slender body he’s seen many times. A familiar figure from the high school locker room, from sleepovers at his house, the diner break room.

This creature, however, this creature has glowing purple eyes, a knowing smirk, and a rigid posture that Suga would never in a million years surrender himself to. Tanaka falls to his knees, and the man, the faux-Suga, the skinwalker, the changeling, the _demon_ , gives a small salute, stepping into a patch of daisies that swallows him like stepping into a puddle of water. 

Ennoshita wheezes and coughs, struggling to breathe on his hands and knees, a bright and angry looking handprint on his throat. They help him to his feet, and he manages to choke out a word Tanaka never wanted to associate with Suga. 

“Demon. He’s a fucking demon.”

-

Another night of nightmares, Suga thinks to himself, walking through the foggy forest alone yet again. He shivers, the forest a bright shade of white and gold, the ground crunching beneath him with every wandering step. However, no matter how bright it is, there’s always something off. The absence of a real sun, the lack of bird calls except a random falcon screech in the distance, the chilled breeze that runs up his spine and laps at his neck.

Another nightmare. That’s all this is. Last time it was wandering around a maze made of evergreen trees until his feet bled, and before that it was the attack of the birds. Another nightmare, the ones witches get always lucid, always a combination of unconscious magic and the mind. 

It’s a terrifying combination, but at least it’s only confined to his own head.

“Great,” He breathes, coming to the entrance of the small field of daisies his mother had always brought him too. “We’re gonna unpack this, then.”

He takes a seat in the clearing, digging up some of the daisies with his fingers, his hands working almost on autopilot as he crafts one of the flower crowns his mother had made him all those years ago. Instinct, although he can’t remember a time he ever actually made one. 

_“So you immediately uproot such fine things, do you?”_ A voice says from behind him, and Suga tenses. 

Just another nightmare. Play along, and it’ll be over.

“They’ll die and sprout more,” He continues making the crown.

“I suppose so,” The voice says, a body sinking into the daisies in front of him.

Suga looks up, and a mirror has been placed in the center of the clearing, his reflection staring back at him with a smug smile and glowing purple eyes, resting his head on his hand, propped up on his elbow as he sits cross legged.

“So, what are you supposed to be?” Suga bemuses. “My unconscious guilt? Something that’s going to jump out of the mirror and represent that I’m my own worst enemy? My mind trying to make me fear the part of me that has magic because I used it to kill?”

The reflection smiles and sits up straight, grabbing its feet.

“I don’t know, Koushi, do you think all those things?”

Suga takes a moment to think, and continues weaving.

“Because,” The reflection continues without waiting for an answer. “I think you felt powerful.”

Suga scowls at his crown.

“I took a mortal life, what in hell makes you think I felt powerful?”

“Mortal life is such a fragile thing, isn’t it?” The reflection muses. “Taking it is so very easy. But then again, a witch’s life is not so intangible as the precious Dark Ones lead us to believe. We are quick to die, after all.”

The reflection picks a daisy, the flower immediately dying in his hand as he frowns and blows away the ashes, wiping his hand on his clothing.

“So, is this all? My subconscious is trying to tell me I liked taking a life? Is that it?” Suga manages to complete half of the flower crown.

The reflection chuckles. 

“I don’t think so, Koushi. You’re not a killer. But you do like having such power, right?”

“I like being able to help my friends,” Suga shrugs. “He was going to kill Akaashi, and nearly killed Kenma.”

“You’re too admirable. Too naive, but we can work with that.”

“We?” Suga blandly repeats, gathering more flowers. 

“There’s more on the way, you know,” The reflection points out. “A precious little birdie may have chirped a little something that will turn into a deafening screech. Can you handle that?”

“Depends,” Suga finishes the crown, putting it on his head. “I’ll just have to…”

Another figure appears behind the reflection, and Suga stares at it, the reflection turning around.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” The reflection smiles, standing up and brushing his clothes off, towering over the still-seated Suga.

“What are you… so you _are_ a witch, aren’t you?” Daichi’s, the mirror image of Daichi, a glimmering figure that seems so real yet so off at the same time, brow furrows. 

“Witch? Certainly not, how awful it is to be compared to a witch these days,” His mirror self rolls his eyes, scoffing, meeting Suga’s eyes. Suga shivers. “Such a waste of potential,” The reflection grins. “Maybe I really am closer to a demon now, from your feeble human standards, at least.”

The reflection makes a grab for Daichi, and Suga bangs his fist against the mirror, the reflection smiling back, hand on Daichi’s throat. Ah, so this is the nightmare part. Great. Better play along and get this over with so he can wake up and rant to Oikawa and Bokuto about it. He would rant to Kuroo, but he’s had his own share of nightmares lately dealing with Kenma.

“You let him go right now,” Suga warns, his reflection cackling.

“I don’t have him, love, you do.”

There’s a throat in his hands, Daichi pinned to the ground beneath him, struggling against his grasp as he grips even harder, screaming for help.

 _”You see?”_ The reflection whispers in his ear, draping itself on his back like a layer of thick fog. _”This is how it’ll always be. Feel powerful yet, Koushi? Knowing that with one little spell you can end his life?”_

_Sumacorpo._

The word flashes in his mind, dances across his tongue, almost brushes past his lips. The sheer force of the word alone sears itself into his mind, and if it weren’t for the noise to his right, he might have said it. 

Instead, his head snaps to the right, and Daichi manages to kick him off, running towards the image of his coven, bound and gagged, kneeling on the ground, looking on in sheer horror of the monster he’s become. The reflection chuckles in his ear, and raises his own arm to salute the group before pushing him forward into the ground. Nothing but inky blackness surrounds him, equally cold and warm, sticky and smooth, and he’s drowning.

_I put a lot of work into creating you, Koushi, so don’t get caught in such obvious traps._

-

“So, why are you going to the library?” Suga asks Bokuto over a cup of coffee, trying to do anything to get rid of the dark circles under his eyes. The coffee won’t help, but it makes him feel like he’s doing something other than wallowing in his post-nightmare haze. 

“Maybe they have something on feeding demons,” Bokuto excitedly flails his arms, his black and purple robe smacking Akaashi in the face as Bokuto gestures towards him. “And maybe we can find a way to end the contract so that he’s not starving himself by being here. He needs to take care of himself, and I want to help as much as I can. Plan B, C, and D, if you will.”

“You’re woefully optimistic about this,” Akaashi begins over his own cup of coffee, his head sinking into his hand. “I told you, I can only feed on certain things. You, specifically.”

“We don’t know that,” He playfully ruffles Akaashi’s bedhead, Akaashii blowing a piece of hair out of his face. “Which is why I’m going to the Faction library.”

Suga sips on his coffee, and looks down at his mug.

Sumacorpo. 

He cringes at the word, and empties his mug in one long sip, looking up at Bokuto with a determined nod.

“I’m coming with you,” He says with finality, standing up a little too fast, black specs dotting his vision. “I have a little research of my own to do.”

“Oh? Trying to find your pathway?”

“Something like that.”

Suga stretches his arms, and looks down at his outfit, frowning. Is this something that the son of a Dark One should wear to be among his own people? Should he wear something more formal? Or would that just make him come across as pretentious? A shirt and jeans are fine under his robe, right? Bokuto’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt as a cover up, for earth’s sake. This is fine.

“How are we gonna get there?” Suga checks his phone to make sure he’s turned in all of his assignments for the day, his summer semester’s final deadlines quickly approaching, and he can only miss so many classes for murderous intent before he fails.

Instead, there’s a few good morning texts from Daichi, and a warning that he’s working and won’t be as active at replying as he usually is. Another text warns that Ennoshita is sick and Asahi is taking care of him for the day, urging him to not go over for the date they had planned.

Sure, it was upsetting to hear that his date was cancelled, especially after the events of the fireworks, but with a night full of horror and almost killing dream-Daichi, it’s a welcomed change.

“There’s a portal setting on the cauldron,” Bokuto ruffles Akaashi’s hair as he tries to drink, the latter spilling the tan-colored liquid over himself with an annoyed huff, Bokuto walking into the living room. “I was playing around with it and found lots of cool settings! Did you know we can hook up our Netflix account to the cauldron?”

“You mean my Netflix account that all of you leech off of?”

“That’s what I said, _our_ account,” Bokuto picks up a handful of powder from the mantle and puts a hand over the empty pot before giving Suga a smug look. “I bet you never knew you could open a portal with this, yeah?”

“Just do it,” Suga crosses his arms over his chest. 

He hated days like this. Days when Bokuto got smug and hyperactive and entirely annoying with passion. Don’t get him wrong, he’s happy that Bokuto has found something that makes him determined and confident, but with Bokuto’s mood swings, the pure near-mania turned him cocky. 

Bokuto throws the dust in with a few words, and a yellow fire erupts before settling into a golden liquid that fills up the entirety of the cauldron, threatening to pour over. He clears his throat, and continues.

“Faction of Night New England Library, please,” He removes his hand, and the liquid swirls into the image of a small unkempt marble staircase leading up to two large rotting dark oak doors.

Suga frowns at the sight, and turns his gaze to the eager Bokuto.

“You sure that’s the place?”

“Yep,” Bokuto gleams, hoisting himself up to the edge of the cauldron, sticking his head into the liquid before pulling back, his hair full of golden sparkles. “Yeah, this is the place.”

He leans into the cauldron, and grunts as he kicks off the ground and the liquid swallows him. Suga takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and waves Akaashi a small goodbye as he swings his legs into the pot, awkwardly holding his robe up and straddling it as he props himself up on the edge. 

He looks into the liquid. So, if he’s upright, and the image is sideways, how is he going to land this? He thinks back to when he had faced the same dilemma when going to Kobayashi’s house, and slips his lower half into the liquid, kicking his legs around to find a footing. 

The back of his calves hit the ground, and he plants his feet firmly as he scoots into the liquid, the entire process uncomfortably lukewarm. His butt makes contact with the ground as he pushes entirely through, and he shakes the sparkles off of his arms and legs, looking around the grounds of the library.

It’s as if someone had built a church in a strip mall and then abandoned the whole project, the library entirely out of place among the rundown parking lot and empty stores on either side. Knowing the decrepit nature of the library, however, there’s probably more to all of this than meets the eye.

He shakes off the rest of the shimmer and stands to his feet, Bokuto standing behind the portal, fingers pinching the bottom like a zipper, closing the portal with his index finger and thumb.

“Nice landing,” Bokuto swats at the shimmer on his own body. “I just jump in and hope for the best.”

He motions at his dirtied clothes, and helps Suga to his feet.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone,” Bokuto beams, pushing past Suga and leading them to the front doors, knocking two times on the wood with his right hand and once with his left, the door immediately swinging open. “Hopefully there’s actually some decent people here. Like Konoha, he’s cool, or Hinata! You’d like Hinata. Or Kuroo’s friend Yaku, he’s kinda scary though.”

Bokuto rambles on, and Suga closes the door behind him before looking up at the pristine bustle of the library, a pure marble lobby with three hallways leading into different rooms. The left reads “classrooms”, most likely for the underage witches that have yet to come into their power, the classes Suga’s father had said were a waste of time for him when he could be studying witch politics and bettering his future, the right having a sign that reads “practice rooms”, and the main one straight ahead simply unlabelled.

They walk up to the welcome desk in the middle of the lobby, a bored looking young volunteer blinking one eye at a time looking up at them, scooting a sign in sheet with one hand, barely looking up from her phone. They sign their names, and enter the library section.

When Suga heard the word library, he thought he knew what to expect. Bookshelves, desks, old ladies angrily shushing you and other librarians being suspiciously hot. One step in, however, a cauldron explodes in a puff of thick, foul-smelling, orange smoke to his right, an actual duel taking place to his left, and a book with wings screeching its contents overhead.

Bokuto makes a beeline for the owner of the explosive cauldron.

“Too much licorice root?” He asks the blond, who scoffs.

“Not enough,” The man sniffs the tar-like contents of his cauldron and recoils, his face paling. “Putrid again. Dammit. I suck at this recipe.”

“Konoha,” Bokuto introduces, looking towards Suga. “This is Koushi Sugawara, one of my family members. Suga, this is Akinori Konoha.”

Konoha grimaces at the name, and pulls a reluctant smile as they shake hands.

“Daisuke Sugawara’s son,” He says through his teeth. “Great to meet you, glad you could make it here, welcome.”

“Ah, no need to be so formal, Konoha,” Bokuto lets out a loud laugh, hitting Konoha’s arm. “He’s cool.”

Konoha’s posture immediately relaxes, and his smile broadens, some light returning to his face. 

“In that case, what can I do you for, Bo? Flight spells? Another advanced summoning book? How did the first one turn out?”

“You got Akaashi from an advanced spell?” Suga blurts out, looking at Bokuto.

“Akaashi?” Konoha repeats, his wide eyes turning to Bokuto. “You managed to summon an Akaashi demon?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto scratches his neck. “But he might kill me, so is there anything you have on either feeding a demon or how to break a contract?”

Konoha purses his lips in thought, visibly going pale as if he’s signed Bokuto’s death warrant.

“He spends all his free time here,” Bokuto leans in and whispers. “Anything you need, he knows where it is.”

“I think I know where some books on A-rank demons are. You might find something relating to the Akaashi family there. Sugawara, you need help finding anything?”

“Uh,” Suga bites his lip. “I’m just browsing. Looking for my pathway, actually.”

“Ah!” Konoha lights up. “There’s a general studies section towards the back,” He gestures into the back corner of the vast room. “I think it’s either five down and six shelves over, but it might be twelve and eight,” He frowns. “But you,” He points to Bokuto. “I’m gonna make sure you stop doing stupid shit like using the spells I give you to summon flesh eaters. If you die, that’s gonna weigh on me so let’s try not to do that.”

He sweetly waves Suga off and pulls Bokuto by the ear towards another part of the library, all with a smile on his face.

He looks around, and catches the eye of a few passersby, whispers that had started to build dissipating, leaving a cold empty void. His stomach sours, his mouth going dry, but he holds his head high and follows Konoha’s second pair of instructions, forgetting the first, leading him further into the back.

It was the right choice, as it leads him directly to a bookcase containing a multitude of elementary-level books on every pathway. Spellcasting, potions, voodoo, summoning, conjuring, curses, enchantments, divination, astronomy, astrology, and things so specific Suga wonders if anyone actually studies them. Seriously, an entire pathway for the practice of cleaning magic? Historical magic? Who would ever need that?

He’s not even actually looking for a pathway, just anything that might lead him to the supposed death spell from his dream. There’s no way he could have come up with that on his own, and his grimoire was a bust.

He needs to find a book on death spells, if such a thing exists.

“Excuse me,” A blob of bright orange tries to brush past him, nearly smacking Suga into simple curses. “Sorry! I’m so clumsy.”

“It’s fine,” Suga wheezes, looking down at the book that falls into his hands. Huh, this might actually help. 

“I’m not really used to people being back here other than children. I always forget how narrow these bookcases are when there’s another adult,” The witch smiles at him, the brush of golden shimmers shaking off of Suga onto him, but it somehow manages to fit the witch perfectly. “What are you looking for?”

Suga looks down at the book in his hands, and shrugs, putting it back on the shelf.

“A specific spell, actually,” Suga begins. “Is there anything here on death magic?”

The man’s smile falters a bit, but it doesn’t ruin the radiant glow he seemingly produces.

“Death magic. Hm,” He thinks. “There’s a little bit on black magic, but they don’t keep it here in this section. Why?”

Suga bites his lip.

“Potential pathway. I want to explore all my options.”

The witch nods, his eyes lingering on Suga for a second too long, the cogs behind his eyes turning.

“You know, you’re not the first to want to change your path to something darker. There’s a lot of talk and rumors about death magic lately,” The witch motions for him to follow to another section of the library. “Apparently, there was a new witch that just killed a witch hunter for their task, and the smaller kids somehow learned that fact and now they think it’s cool to try and sneak into the restricted section to learn black magic so they can protect themselves, too.”

Suga’s heart sinks.

“Yeah, well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah?” The witch grins, approaching a barrier. “I’d agree. I could never imagine killing someone, but hey, to each their own. Not gonna judge someone on how they want to keep the balance,” He stops short of the border. “Too bad only of-age witches can pass through here, or else I’d lead you further.”

“You’re not twenty-one?” Suga looks the man up and down. He’s not too young-looking, he could totally pass as a real witch.

“Nah, just an intern that teaches the younger ones. Shoyo Hinata,” He holds out his hand, the name registering as one of Bokuto’s friends. “Just turned twenty, actually. Part of the greater Boston branch.”

“Koushi Sugawara,” Suga introduces, trying his best to seem friendly. “Nice to meet you, Hinata.”

“Sugawara,” His eyes widen, and he averts his gaze sheepishly. “Ah shit, and I totally just gossiped about you.”

“Body magic,” Suga nods, Hinata staring at him with a confused look, and Suga breaks out into a small smile. “If you’re going to gossip, better do it correctly. Get the kids wild about voodoo.”

Hinata lets out a laugh, and nods.

“Guess that’s better than death spells.”

“Anything is better than a death spell,” Suga corrects solemnly, stepping past the barrier. “And I’m thinking about going into potions, anyways, so be sure to pass that along to the kids.”

“Big bad witch supports potions,” Hinata hums. “I like that. I’ll be sure to tell the kids you think so.”

He waves Suga off before disappearing behind the tall shelves, Suga turning around and looking around the small restricted area, a quill scrawling his name into a book to track who enters and what books they read. It doesn’t put him at ease, but he’s glad that there’s such a security as this.

He looks around, and his determination starts.

Alright, if I were a death spell, where would I be?

Turns out, nowhere. 

The entire restricted section, and not a single death spell that doesn’t involve using an intense form of another spell for deadly purposes. He could have, and has, come up with these on his own.

Death curses, telekinesis gone wrong, the warnings of reincarnation, necromancy, S-rank demon summoning, and other forbidden magicks, and the ever-present horror of untreated magic fever. Absolutely nothing that remotely _looks_ like sumacorpo. He sighs, defeatedly closing a book on a history of witches killed for doing necromancy, and exits the restricted section, hoping his search history isn’t too suspicious, and makes his way back to Bokuto and Konoha, who are passionately discussing the book they’re leaning over.

“-n’t say that, this could work!”

“I don’t know Bo, I wouldn’t just offer yourself to a demon like that.”

Suga’s eyes narrow, and he picks up the pace. He knows this conversation.

“But what if it works?”

“I don’t think immortality will work if you don’t have a body.”

“Bokuto,” Suga begins, flopping down into a chair next to them. “Don’t tell me you want Akaashi to eat you.”

“But if I drink the _elixir of life,”_ Suga’s eyes go wide as Bokuto holds up an unlabeled book. “I can theoretically survive being eaten by a demon, right?”

“You found a recipe for the elixir of life?” Suga half-screeches.

“Yeah!” Konoha grins, prying the book out of Bokuto’s hands. “I don’t think it’ll protect against a demon attack, but I thought it would be beneficial to copy into your grimoire. I did _not_ say it can protect against demons, though.”

Suga scans over the recipe.

“This is…” He shakes his head in disbelief.

Crazy. Amazing. Terrifying. An absolutely terrible idea.

“Easy looking,” Konoha hands him the book, pointing to the instructions. “But it’s deceptively complicated, despite the rumors about it. Takes some potion skill, and totally not impossible. Although,” He gives a pointed look to Bokuto. “I would never recommend drinking it and then trying to sleep with an Akaashi demon.”

“I couldn’t find anything on fulfilling the contract,” He pouts. “We’re trying to make it work with friendship, but I just want a backup plan in case I do need to… fulfil it the normal way.”

“Friendship,” Suga deadpans.

“I’m looking for alternatives,” Bokuto defends, pointing to the spell as he copies it into his own grimoire. “I’m not a total idiot, okay? I’m looking for ways to end a contract early, studying up on the Akaashi family, looking at flesh-eating demons, and everything else.”

“I never said you were an idiot,” Suga frowns.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you treat me like one,” Bokuto grumbles, closing his grimoire and turning towards Konoha, completely shutting Suga off as he continues. “I’ll get back to you on whether or not I can make it.”

Konoha shrugs.

“I’ve made it before, so if you need me to come help, I can. Just make sure that no one drinks it until it’s been tested, because it can have some weird side effects.”

“Side effects?” Suga raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like it can last shorter than it’s supposed to, longer, can cut life short, add years of life,” He numbers the side effects off on his fingers. “Test it on a short-lived plant before taking it, and wait for the results.”

“Thanks, Konoha,” Bokuto grins. “You’re a real help, you know that, right?”

“I always am,” Konoha stands up, grabbing his putrefied potion. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to make myself lunch.”

He promptly walks off, Suga looking at Bokuto. Bokuto just shrugs.

“Great potion master, cannot cook for the life of him.”

Suga blinks, and then turns his attention back to the book that Konoha has left on the table.

“So, elixir of life,” He shakily sucks in a breath. Never did he think he’d ever come across such a potion, his stomach starting to churn at the thought. “How long does this take?” 

Bokuto cranes his neck over Suga’s shoulder.

“About a week to make, and hey, look, it calls for B-rank demon blood or above, which is the hardest ingredient! We can totally make this,” He excitedly checks the recipe between the book and his own grimoire. “Did you find a possible pathway?”

“Uh, potions, actually,” Suga looks over the recipe. “Since I spent all that time making a poison and an antidote. Didn’t hate it.”

“Wanna help me make this, then?” Bokuto closes the book, the book immediately flying back to wherever it belongs. “I could use an aspiring potions master. I’m only good at summoning.”

“I’m sure you’re good at a lot of things, Bo,” Suga nudges him with his shoulder, the guilt starting to build up in his stomach. “But if you really need my help, I’ll do it.”

The two sit in a short silence, Bokuto growing increasingly anxious next to him before he slides another book towards Suga, side-eyeing him. Suga picks up the book. 

_The Complete Guide to Prophetic Dreams_

Suga looks at Bokuto, and sighs a little.

“I don’t have prophetic dreams, Bo, they’re just nightmares.”

“It never hurts to check, okay?” Bokuto shoots him a worried glance. “I mean, with everything you’ve told me, there might be something, okay? Especially with that dove dream and all the doves that have been flying around us.”

“I’m pretty sure they caused the dreams, Bo, just… the stress of it all,” He gestures vaguely around him. “They’re even gossiping about my task, did you know that? Dark children think it’s cool to learn death spells now.”

Bokuto frowns, and pushes the book closer.

“Check this out, for me? I don’t wanna risk anything. Maybe if you understand the dreams, they’ll help put you at ease.”

Suga lets out a defeated sigh through a smile, and nods. 

“You’re right. Okay, I’ll give,” Bokuto smiles and stands up. “But you have to promise me something.”

Bokuto raises an eyebrow, and Suga huffs.

“We cannot let Oikawa get his hands on an immortality potion. The world can’t handle him for more than he’s allowed.”

Bokuto lets out a barking laugh.

“Knowing him, Iwaizumi would become immortal or something.”

“He kinda deserves it, though, putting up with Oikawa all the time.”

“Yeah, but we love his annoying ass.”

“That we do.”

The two exit the library and go to the transportation circles, Suga signing the book out, making more jokes at Oikawa’s expense. But hey, they deserve it. He needs a laugh. Needs any distraction at all. 

And he knows the perfect one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also please don't ask where Kuroken is in the comments, I swear there will be more content with them but their main story arc happens later in the book so please be patient. This goes for all the other pairings, too, I promise you'll see more of them.


	11. Time After Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! Possible trigger warnings for mentions of past weight loss/current weight gain (from his time with Kobayashi/the Dark coven) in the Kenma section and again for the Bokuto section for a very brief and non-explicit depiction of self harm for blood use in a potion. !!!

“So,” Daichi sets down the pot of coffee in his hands, slowly turns to Tanaka, and gives him a firm look. “You’re telling me that a demon. _A demon!_ Attacked Ennoshita?”

“Yes,” Tanaka nods with full certainty.

Daichi huffs, already feeling the headache start to form at the front of his forehead. It’s been happening a lot, working here, and it gets worse when Nishinoya comes in. He thought he could last a whole shift without getting one, but here he is, five minutes 'til the end, and Tanaka goes and ruins his peace. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, the way his therapist had told him to when he used to go for sessions in high school.

Stress. A terrible thing, really. But he’s been doing better these past few years, and he doesn’t have the intense panic attacks anymore, the ones that crippled him from the moment he woke up to random moments throughout the day, the nausea never truly leaving him. It’s been a while since he had an _actual_ panic attack, and he’s proud of himself for it.

Things are looking up.

Well, until demons are brought up in conversation again. If he knew that small towns would be so proud of their witchy histories, he would have prepared himself more, might have opted out of moving with Ennoshita, just to have gone his entire life without hearing about demons and witches so much. But hey, he got to meet Suga, so that’s a plus.

“Definitely a demon-”

Daichi slams the coffee pot down, and Tanaka stares at the look on Daichi’s face. He may be Daichi’s boss, have the power to fire him for getting angry, but Tanaka would never be so petty. Instead, he flinches, and Daichi clenches his jaw.

“My friend gets attacked in the woods, gets choked, and you want me to believe that a demon did it?” Daichi relaxes his grip a little, and counts to ten again. 

“Well you wouldn’t believe my other answer, but…” Tanaka trails off, taking a few steps backwards to distance himself. “Okay, fine, I don’t know the full story. We found him after we got separated and he was already being attacked. You’re right Daichi, it was probably nothing demonic, just some crazy woodsman.”

Tanaka hurries away to take a table’s order, and Daichi drags a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. 

Don’t get him wrong, Daichi isn’t an angry man. He’s a frustrated one, and there’s something about this town and witches and demons that sets him on edge. Ennoshita coming home in the middle of the night, voice hoarse, wild-eyed and terrified out of his mind, all just to isolate himself in his room after a short checkup with Asahi… 

It’s shaken something loose in him.

There’s something that he’s not being clued in on, and if he lets himself slip, he might just believe it really _was_ a demon that did it. But he knows better than to believe something so outlandish. He’s not an idiot, he knows this town has secrets, has its fair share of weirdness that he has yet to explain, but there’s a better explanation to all of this.

Like how the wild dogs that killed that man are still on the loose. Sure, it’s unlikely they would bruise Ennoshita’s neck like that, but it’s better than assuming it was a demon. Maybe he should call in a tip to the police, let them check it out, just in case.

He likes to think he’s responsible. Sensible. Someone that other people can put their trust in. A good friend, a good brother, a good worker, and with the way things are looking with Suga (not that he wants to rush anything, his nervous ass can barely comprehend how in hell he managed to get the attention of an angel like Suga), a good boyfriend.

The bell over the door sounds, and he sours at the fact that he’s the only waiter that’s behind the counter, everyone else either hiding in the break room or busy with their own tables. Dammit, the customers, two young looking men, one towering over the other with a blank yet determined gaze, the other a shorter and younger blond with an undercut, walking up to the counter. Just his luck.

He puts on his best customer service smile and grabs his order pad.

“Hello, welcome, how may I-”

“Haru Kobayashi,” The tall man begins flatly. “Have you heard of him?”

“You can’t just open with that,” The younger man pouts, hitting the taller man with the back of his hand, giving Daichi an innocent smile. “Two coffees, please. Do you do to-go cups?”

“We do,” Daichi slowly begins, memories of his chat with the police flashing through his mind as he rings up their order. “And what about Kobayashi?”

“Ah!” The blonde man’s smile widens. “So you have heard of him! Did you hear that, Ushiwaka? I told you we’d find something here.”

“You did,” The taller man nods. "Even though it is the first place we came to, looking for directions."

Huh, so Tanaka was right about that. Go figure.

“We just have a few questions that we’re asking around for, if you don’t mind," Blondie persists, his smile as fake as Daichi's.

“Are you two cops?” Daichi raises an eyebrow, the two men dressed well, but not too formally. They don’t look like authority figures, but then again, he’s never had to encounter one until moving to Claremont. But then again... again... what kind of cop has a tongue piercing?

“No, we are-”

“We’re friends of the family,” The blond man nods. “We’re looking into a few things, for our own closure.”

Daichi nods, and Tanaka joins them behind the counter as Daichi hands over the coffee, the tall man passing him a crisp ten dollar bill. Tanaka eyes them, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well,” Tanaka begins. “You’re in luck. We were the last ones to see him alive, but we didn't interact with him much before then.”

His voice is cautious, wary, his eyes narrow and pointed. It’s obvious he doesn’t trust these people, but he’s good enough at pretending to be at least the smallest bit interested in the conversation.

“Oho?” The blond takes a seat at the counter, and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “You seen anyone with a mark like this, then?”

He pushes the paper across the counter, and Daichi looks down at the drawing, a circle with a star inside. He frowns, and the headache returns.

“Should be on the collarbone,” The tall man gestures to where it would be on his own body, his voice either bored or naturally monotone, Daichi can’t tell.

“Can’t say that we have, fellas,” Tanaka gives the paper back, shrugging apologetically. “But if we do, is there any way to contact you?”

The blond man immediately fishes a business card out of his pocket and hands it over to Tanaka with a toothy grin.

“Sure thing. Call us anytime.”

“Will do,” Tanaka waves the card and flashes a smile with a small nod, his entire demeanor dropping when the pair grab their coffees and bid them a good day. “Hey, Daichi,” Tanaka begins slowly, slipping the card into his pocket.

“Yeah?”

“Even if you do happen to see something, don’t tell strangers.”

His voice is a warning, his eyes narrowed as the pair enter the shop next door. He turns to Daichi, and Daichi almost shivers at the pure seriousness Tanaka wears. He actually looks like an adult for once.

“Why not?”

“Something tells me not to trust them. Besides,” He pulls the compass out of his other pocket and frowns, feeling the hefty weight in his hand. “They asked about the mark and not about their supposed friend. They don’t care that someone’s dead, they just want to find what killed him.”

His hand clenches around the compass, and he takes in a breath, looking back at Daichi, the two of them barely registering the sound of the bell again.

“And I don’t think I want to see that happen.”

“What do you-”

“Good evening, my dear bitches,” A voice approaches the counter, the two of them looking at Suga as he leans over the countertop with a tiny smirk, light eyeshadow and blush framing his face. “How’s work, you know, since I can’t get any shifts?” His eyes flicker to Tanaka, and Tanaka sighs. The eyeshadow makes him look intimidating, but next to him, Daichi looks… enthralled. Bewitched. Possessed? No, not possessed. 

Alright, maybe a little possessed.

“I’ll get you in for more hours next week, okay?”

“That works out great, actually,” Suga takes a seat and turns his attention back to Daichi. “You ready?”

“About to clock out, perfect timing,” Daichi muses, sneaking off behind Tanaka to the back room.

Tanaka stares at Suga, and Suga rests his head on his hand, watching Daichi leave before meeting Tanaka’s eyes. His smile instantly drops.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Tanaka averts his gaze. “Just… you look normal today.”

“Normal?” Suga chuckles. “As opposed to what? When have I ever been normal, Tanaka?”

Tanaka freezes for a second, and scans up and down Suga. 

“You’ve been tired recently,” Tanaka avoids the question.

Normal brown eyes, slouched posture, teasing attitude. He knows this man. This is familiar. But how much does he _really_ know about Suga? Could that really have been Suga in the woods, or was it something that happened to take his shape?

“Stop staring like that, dude, seriously,” Suga’s face falls flatter, and he shifts uncomfortably. “You’re kinda freaking me out.”

“So, what are you doing here?” Tanaka clears his throat. “You know, other than begging for hours and disrupting my impeccable work ethic?”

Suga cracks a smile, and leans forward with a fond expression.

“I have a date, actually,” He continues. “It seems to be date night in Chez Sugawara. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have something planned," He gestures vaguely. "Kuroo and Kenma are having a night in and to be honest I’m kinda jealous because I really want pizza, and Bokuto and Akaashi have some sort of thing going on, I don’t really know what’s up with them.”

“Akaashi, huh,” Tanaka hums. “How is he?”

“Good, why?”

“I was thinking of adding lemon meringue to my list of pies,” Tanaka quickly covers, Daichi returning in a different outfit, bag slung over his shoulder.

“You ready, Suga?”

Suga gives a short eager nod and the pair wave Tanaka off before following each other out of the door, Daichi telling some sort of joke that makes Suga laugh. An airy laugh that’s far from forced. Suga hasn’t laughed like that in a while, and Tanaka’s posture relaxes, unaware it had gotten so tense, and his face goes hopeful.

This Suga… 

This one is safe.

-

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** you in the break room?

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** no, but I am on break  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** why  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** finally wanna fulfill that sex in the breakroom fantasy I’ve been having?

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** I-  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** no  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** this is important

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** more important than railing me in the breakroom?

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** two people just showed up at the café asking Makki and Mattsun if they know anyone with a witch’s mark  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** well not actually a witch’s mark  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** but anyone with a tattoo on their collarbone

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** shit  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** they don’t know about my tattoo do they?????  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** did I just get outed???

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** they don’t, and no  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** but this is something I wanted to alert you to  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** glad I got here when I did, happened to get off work early

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** so what do I do now  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** fake an emergency and get out?

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** I think they’re leaving  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** but this has bad news written all over it  
**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** your call

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** hmmmmm  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** methinks Kuroo is calling me saying I need to inexplicably come home with only a vague reason as to why  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** must be too important to finish my shift  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** you’d better let Mattsun know for me because wow he really sounds like I need to avoid talking to my boss at all costs  
**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** love you

**From ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** you’re lucky it’s date night, Shittykawa

**To ~*~Iwa-chan~*~:** :D

Oikawa scoffs, throwing his empty foam carton from lunch away in the nearest trash can, and opens another message, typing it out with greasy fingers.

**To Tettsun:** hey if Mattsun asks, you’ve been sicj and can’t get out of bed  
**To Tettsun:** or some other convenient excuse  
**To Tettsun:** sick*

**From Tettsun:** are you skipping to fuck iwa again, cause no, I'm not falling for that again

**To Tettsun:** that was ONE TIME  
**To Tettsun:** and no  
**To Tettsun:** seems like Claremont has another little witch hunter problem

**From Tettsun:** what???

**To Tettsun:** people going around asking about pentagram tats  
**To Tettsun:** so you know  
**To Tettsun:** not good

**From Tettsun:** shit  
**From Tettsun:** what are we gonna do

**To Tettsun:** family meeting later  
**To Tettsun:** Suga and Thighchi have a date tonight and I am not going to be the one that tells him to come home early

**From Tettsun:** right.  
**From Tettsun:** I don’t wanna deal with witch hunters AND an angry Suga

**To Tettsun:** who the fuck does

**From Tettsun:** captain Thighchi, apparently

**To Tettsun:** wish my boyfriend had thighs that thicc  
**To Tettsun:** but then again it reminds me of Bo and I cannot unsee it  
**To Tettsun:** suffer with me

**From Tettsun:** aight that’s my cue to leave  
**From Tettsun:** have a good date night now that Bo’s thick thighs are stuck in your head  
**From Tettsun:** ;)

“What’s that face?” Iwaizumi walks up to him, Oikawa jumping a little at the sudden sound. His eyes flicker to Iwaizumi’s thighs, and he cringes.

“Nothing,” He looks up at Iwaizumi’s face, then back to his thighs. “Dammit, Kuroo.”

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asks, Oikawa slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Oh, and you have an extra hour added onto your next three shifts.”

Oikawa groans, but hey, it’s a fair trade. Even he can’t complain about that. Instead, he hails The Dark Ones that instead of seeing Iwa at work and then after work for their date night, he gets three extra hours of his boyfriend to himself. Worth three extra hours of work and a lie to his boss.

Not to mention that Iwa wanted to spend three hours of his measly little mortal life with Oikawa.

It shouldn’t hurt him like this. He should be happy that he’s able to proudly hold his boyfriend’s hand, plan out a relaxing night, watch John Carpenter’s They Live for the eighth time because it’s the only alien movie Iwaizumi can tolerate, and if he’s truly lucky he’ll be leaving Iwaizumi’s place tomorrow morning covered in fresh hickies, after a nice breakfast, of course.

He should be happy that Iwaizumi is rambling about his bad customers just because he loves to listen to Iwa talk about anything, every word dripping with passion. He should be happy that he’s helping Iwa cook dinner tonight even though he had previously been banned from the kitchen. But he can’t. 

Because Iwaizumi is mortal.

Which doesn’t matter at all right now. But in thirty years, when Iwaizumi is pushing fifty-three and Oikawa still looks like he’s in his twenties, will Iwa regret his decision? Regret meeting Oikawa?

“Alright,” Iwaizumi pulls the key out to his apartment as they rear the line of surprisingly cheap but not-so-surprisingly small townhouses on the other side of town. “Something’s wrong. You’ve been making that face the entire time we’ve been walking, and I don't think it's about my thighs anymore."

He opens the door for Oikawa and the two enter, Oikawa immediately kicking off his shoes and dropping onto Iwaizumi’s couch like it’s his own home. 

“You didn’t even laugh at my joke about Hanamaki and Matsukawa fucking in the break room before we got to, you feeling okay?”

Oikawa silently swings his arms open, and Iwaizumi sighs. 

"Another bad day?" He asks as he sits next to him, fitting himself into Oikawa’s arms. Oikawa hugs tightly, tears dotting his eyes as Iwaizumi’s hands find themselves patting, stroking, and rubbing Oikawa’s back. "I got you, babe, I'm here."

He sniffles, and pulls away, Iwaizumi cocking an eyebrow until Oikawa nods, fanning his reddening face.

“You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa’s upper body into his lap, running his hands through Oikawa’s hair.

“A little bit, yeah,” Oikawa half-croaks, biting his lip, letting Iwaizumi comfort him.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Oikawa just nods, closing his eyes to trap the budding tears. He’s not too stubborn to keep this conversation from happening, but it’s just as hard as he thought it would be. How was he meant to approach this? Hey, Iwa-chan, I’ll outlive you and I fear I’m just holding you back from finding true happiness with another mortal, but I can't bring myself to imagine a life without you? No thanks. He'd rather subject himself to soapmaking with Kuroo.

“Is it the witch hunters?” Iwaizumi cautiously asks, not knowing too much about what's a touchy subject and what isn't. He's too damn caring. Be more dense, Iwa-chan. Stop being so perfect.

“I wish,” Oikawa breathes, getting back on track. “I have goddamn magic spells and all this other bullshit to take care of them with.”

“Then what is it?”

Oikawa bites the bullet. “You know I’m gonna live to be three hundred something, right?”

Iwaizumi is silent, but his face softens. A hand idly scratches Oikawa’s scalp, and Iwaizumi lets out a breathy scoff through a small smile.

“Is that what this is about?” Iwaizumi moves down to cup Oikawa’s face. “Scared I’m not gonna look good next to you when I’m old and wrinkly?”

“‘S not funny,” Oikawa pouts, sitting up and leaning on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, balling his fists up and hitting them against his thighs. “Don’t laugh at something like that.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi puts his lips on Oikawa’s forehead, kissing so gently it forms a promise. “I wanna know what’s on your mind, ‘kay? Everything.”

Oikawa sucks in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Why do you stay here in this town? I mean, I have my family, I have a job to support the coven, and in a few years we’ll move like the fucking Twilight vampires so no one notices we don’t age like everyone else. I have time to fuck around, time to mess up, time to make the wrong decisions. But you? You have so much less time to do that. One wrong decision and-”

“It’s for you, you know,” Iwaizumi mumbles against Oikawa’s hair. “And I know that if I don’t explain you’ll blame yourself for holding me back or something, but just… hear me out, okay?”

Oikawa cranes his neck to look up at Iwaizumi, and he continues.

“I’m here because of you, Tooru. Because I’m happy here in Claremont with you. Sure, staying here after graduation with my parents at an arm’s length, working at the bookstore that I used to make fun of in middle school, stuck with the same people I knew my entire life, none of that was part of the plan. But neither were you,” He sees the tears starting to well up in Oikawa’s eyes, and he runs a hand through Oikawa’s hair. “But sometimes plans change for the better, yeah? And if you move in a few years, then I’ll be right there next to you. In fifty years, when you’re still doing spells that make your hair look fluffier, when you’re still yelling at teenagers that take your parking spot, when you’re still watching rocket launches, well, I wanna see that too. With you. You never were and never will be a bad decision.”

He would have continued, but Oikawa’s shoulders start to shake and tremble with the force of a loud sob that echoes off the under-decorated walls, his arms capturing Iwaizumi and locking him in place. Oikawa shudders in his grasp, gripping his shirt and soaking the front of Iwaizumi with his tears.

If Iwaizumi was any less of a man, he would have held in the tears. But he’s the best man he can be, and he lets the tears spill freely over the edge, his hold on Oikawa tightening as Oikawa sputters a series of unintelligible words against his chest. 

They stay like this, blubbering into each other, more so Oikawa than Iwaizumi, eyes red and puffy, the tears stopping only to start again at the look of each others’ faces. Snot drips down Oikawa’s chin, his eyes strained, face tight, choking on his own sobs as they start to wean into sniffles and stains on his sleeves. God, he feels ugly. 

“I love you, you big idiot,” Oikawa croaks, pushing Iwaizumi’s shoulder. 

“You make me an idiot,” Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa in closer, touching his head to Oikawa’s. “But I’m starting to think it’s not such a bad thing.”

“So sappy,” Oikawa scoffs and rests his forehead against Iwaizumi, the last few tears seeping into Iwaizumi’s shirt. “No fair, Iwa-chan. No fair. I’m supposed to be the romantic one.”

Iwaizumi wipes away the last remaining tear from his cheek and ruffles Oikawa’s hair.

“I have my moments,” He grins against Oikawa’s head, dipping down for another kiss. “And if it doesn’t go without saying, I love you too. Even if you are the stupidest person alive.”

“So rude, Iwa,” Oikawa laughs weakly into his shirt. “Ruined the moment.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” Iwaizumi holds Oikawa, just to keep him in place. Keep the warmth, his warmth, as close as he can. Never wanting to let go of the witch he’s found his forever in. “You’re definitely stuck with me.”

-

Waking up pinned to the bed by Kuroo is something Kenma’s gotten used to these past few weeks. Waking up sweaty, throat sore, shaking against another body with items strewn randomly across the room and the sheets all messed up. 

Damn nightmares.

“You awake?” Kuroo asks, hands gripping Kenma’s wrists as everything calms down, the floating objects in the room starting to fall with heavy clunks and crashes. Well, there goes Suga's lamp.

“Yeah,” Kenma breathes, sitting up and drinking the water Kuroo offers. The new routine.

He winces at the sight of yet another blossoming bruise on Kuroo’s arm, and Kuroo takes the glass from his quivering hands, straightening out the covers and crawling into bed next to Kenma. Kenma instantly falls against Kuroo’s shoulder, and Kuroo rubs small circles into his shoulder.

“What time is it?”

“Just past eight at night. Everyone’s out except Bokuto and Akaashi. Oikawa's not coming home tonight and Suga must be having the fuckin' time of his life.”

Kenma hums, closing his eyes, the edge of sleep never truly leaving. He yawns against Kuroo's body, but he knows he'll be up all night again.

“What was it tonight?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma scowls.

“A memory of the first time Kobayashi made me make a magic finder,” Kenma sighs. “If I was a full Light witch, I would have been killed by magic fever with how little he let me do magic.”

“Light…” Kuroo repeats, trailing off.

“I’m almost twenty-one, Kuro,” Kenma adds. “And I’m making my choice to be Light whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” Kuroo moves his hand up to stroke Kenma’s hair, speaking softly. “I know.”

Kuroo continues to pet Kenma's hair until his shaking stops, and he makes a move to get out of bed before Kenma’s grip on his arm tightens. He freezes, looking down at Kenma, who’s staring straight ahead. 

“You okay?”

“I just wanna stay like this for a little while longer,” Kenma finds himself murmuring, Kuroo falling back into place.

“Of course.”

Kenma leans into Kuroo’s body heat, not daring to close his eyes. If the nightmares aren’t memories of his family or his time spent as a prisoner, they’re of Kuroo. Those nights are either the worst, or they’re better than others. 

His first full night of sleep since their reunion, he dreamt of the night he and Kuroo had snuck out past midnight to go stargazing on his sixteenth birthday. It was a cloudy night, so cloudy that you couldn’t even see the moon, but they laid there for hours, just talking about things so insignificant Kenma can’t even remember, cuddling like they were attached at the hip, and had their first kiss. 

His parents were so angry that he was so easily swayed to do something so “Dark”, but if it was with Kuroo, he didn’t mind. 

He’s never minded the Dark, if it was Kuroo who was doing it.

But he needs to keep his family’s legacy alive. He made a promise that he intends to keep. He _will_ be a Light witch. 

Even if it meant that Kuroo was just out of reach. 

He starts to shake again, and Kuroo holds him closer, Kenma listening to every small thump of his heart against his chest. It fills his ears, calming and steady. Constant. Soothing. Warm.

He’d never tell Kuroo this out loud, though. He wants to, wanted to all those years ago, but the words get caught in his throat on the way from his brain, muddled and jumbled as if they had never existed at all. These words are for himself, to keep out of pure fear that making them real will contradict the whole thought.

He falls further into the warmth next to him, and Kuroo lets out a small chuckle.

“You gettin’ sleepy again?”

“A little,” Kenma admits, burying himself in the covers. “You’re warm.”

“I dare call myself hot.”

Kenma groans, and pulls away from Kuroo’s warmth.

“Oh come on, my puns aren’t that bad.”

“That wasn’t even a pun,” Kenma turns his back to Kuroo. “You just called yourself hot and expected me to laugh.”

“Is it working? Are you wooed yet?”

Kenma looks over his shoulder at Kuroo’s stupid grin, and fights the smile forming on his lips, turning back to hide under the covers more. 

“No,” He lies.

“Oho?” Kuroo chuckles, hands inching closer to Kenma. “Do I need to break out my truth spell?”

“That doesn’t exist-”

Kenma lets out a loud wheeze as Kuroo’s fingers dig into his sides, a loud laugh ripping from Kenma’s throat as he curls up into himself, hands reaching out to smack anything he can make contact with. Tears well up in his eyes, breathlessly calling for mercy as Kuroo cackles above him, recoiling with a heavy gasp for air.

"Fuck you," Kenma spits, even though he doesn't mean it.

"Did it work?" Kuroo brings his hands back over Kenma, hovering.

“Fine, your truth spell worked,” Kenma chokes out the words through a few fits of residual laughter. “I thought you were kinda funny. Sometimes. Not all the time,” He stands up to go to the bathroom, still feeling like he’s being tickled, holding his sides. “Dammit, so mature, Kuro.”

“It worked when we were younger. Thought I’d shoot my shot.”

Kenma gestures rudely and slips into the bathroom, staring at his reflection as he washes his hands. He’s put on some weight, but not much, which is good. It's something, at least. Better than he was before, but that's as optimistic as he'll go. The dark circles under his eyes look less and less like cartoony death makeup, so that's at least _something_ too. He ties his hair up into a ponytail and looks down at the shirt that hangs loosely on his body. 

The clothes Suga had let him borrow swallowed him up, and even more so with everyone else in the house being over six feet tall. Kuroo’s shirt clings to his shoulders, and if Kuroo wasn’t so naturally skinny it wouldn’t have fit like this. Like it did years ago, when he would steal Kuroo's shirts and sweatshirts just to have a piece of him when his parents kept them apart.

He runs a wet hand through his hair, effectively ruining his ponytail, and presses his palm to his forehead. He’s been thinking too much about the past. The way things used to be. Here he is, in Kuroo’s house, back in Kuroo’s life, able to create new memories. Until he signs his name in the Light grimoire, he can make as many new memories as he wants.

And he intends to spend every second until then by Kuroo’s side.

Still, he can’t help but notice the frown he wears out of the corner of his eye.

“You ready for dinner, kitten? I ordered a pizza and it’s still warm, if Akaashi hasn’t already done the mouth thing and eaten it whole,” Kuroo calls from the other room.

“Yeah," Kenma sighs, fixing his hair. "Be out in a second.”

One last once-over, and his frown shifts into the smallest of smiles when he looks at the dumb cat design on Kuroo’s shirt. 

What a nerd.

-

Akaashi bites into yet another slice of pizza after picking off all the pineapple, creating a sad little pile of untouched fruit on his plate. He was a demon, and even _he_ thought pineapple on pizza was a concept straight from the depths of hell.

Bokuto disagrees, and eats a chunk of pineapple off of Akaashi’s plate when he’s not looking, scanning over the ingredients list for the potion, his own smaller cauldron threatening to boil over with the cleaner he had forgotten to measure out.

“So,” Akaashi chews. “Why do you have small cauldrons if you have the big one in the living room?”

“That’s for communication,” Bokuto vaguely waves his hand as he reads over the recipe, the cauldron emptying itself. “Do you know how much it would take to fill that cauldron? Or maintaining it and cleaning it?”

“Nope,” Akaashi smacks his lips, finishing his fourth slice and pushing the plate to another side of the bed, nearing satisfied. “But this is rather interesting to watch. I’ve never seen a witch make a potion before.”

“This is just a test,” Bokuto steps aside to give Akaashi a better look at what he’s doing. “This potion takes about two weeks to make, and with Oikawa’s text to Kuroo about the witch hunters, it might be useful to have. You know, just in case."

“What is it?”

“Elixir of life,” Bokuto says like it’s nothing, humming to himself as he rereads the ingredients to himself and looks at a collection of bottles from a dusty carrying case.

“A what?” Akaashi chokes on his spit.

“Yeah, it’s what witches use to cheat humans into doing things,” Bokuto shrugs. “Apparently it lasts a few months for witches depending on the potency, and about two years for humans. Great way to trick mortals into thinking you've given them unlimited immortality. Doesn’t protect against gruesome deaths, though,” He looks over Akaashi and frowns. “But I thought it might be good to have around, just in case.”

“Gruesome how?”

“Like your heart being pulled out, beheading… demons,” He says the last part quickly, followed by an awkward cough. “I think you can survive a stabbing though, so that’s something. It keeps you alive even if you’re exsanguinated, and after looking up what that meant I think that’s pretty darn cool.”

Bokuto murmurs the ingredients again, and his eyes flicker to Akaashi.

“One of the ingredients is demon blood, mind if I use yours? I didn’t want to just take it without asking or-”

“You know that while I’m under your contract, you basically own me, right?” Akaashi blurts out, Bokuto’s face going pale. “I mean, of course I have free will. I mean. Yes, here,” Akaashi sits up, avoiding Bokuto’s gaze. “I meant that you don’t need to ask. For anything.”

“Uh, thanks,” Bokuto hoarsely sputters, getting a small but very sharp looking scalpel from the dusty kit. “I sterilized this, don’t worry.”

Bokuto holds his hand out, and Akaashi allows him to grab his wrist, his mind flickering back to the night they had met, Akaashi taking Bokuto’s blood from his palm with the vague notion of “companionship”.

He can’t lie, he was excited to have been summoned by someone so young. And not just because younger meat tastes better, but because Bokuto had seemed so innocent, had sweeter blood than most of Akaashi’s meals, and usually innocence plus deliciousness equalled a fun night.

It’s upsetting, thinking about it now.

Bokuto’s the first human he’s ever gotten close to other than a few witches that summoned him for more lengthy contracts. But even then, he upheld his end of the "ultimate sacrifice" bargain. If he had gotten to know his other meals, would he have been this attached? Or is it just Bokuto who sets him on edge?

He can’t imagine ever eating Bokuto.

Not of his own will, at least.

He could definitely eat Iwaizumi or Oikawa if prompted, maybe Kenma and Kuroo if he was hungry enough, and sure, he’d have some regrets eating Suga, but with Bokuto? Something about the idea of eating him churns Akaashi’s insides. The idea of Bokuto getting angry with him if he were to eat someone close to him is enough to keep the rest of the coven safe, too, although Akaashi has a sneaking suspicion that he’d be sadder to say goodbye to anyone in this coven than he wants to admit.

And yes, that means even Oikawa.

Bokuto makes a small incision into his wrist, a small sting paired with black blood beading out of his skin along with the deep smell of rot. Bokuto immediately retches and staggers backwards, pulling his shirt over his nose. Akaashi picks up the small empty vial that had gotten tossed on the bed in Bokuto’s fit, and holds it under his wound. The blood is thick, ink-black and absolutely foul, fat drops slowly filling the vial. 

The wound dribbles until Akaashi pulls it away and corks the vial, lightly shaking it at Bokuto, who’s busy opening a window, gasping for fresh air. He frowns at the wound, and watches as it continues to drip.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, pressing a thumb against the wound. 

“What?” Bokuto asks between breaths, blindly fumbling behind him for the vial.

“It’s not healing as fast as I would like,” Akaashi removes his thumb, a small drop oozing out. “It’s still rapid, though, which is good.”

“Yeah?” Bokuto puts the blood with the rest of the vials like it might explode in his hands. Akaashi tries not to take offense.

“Feeding helps me heal faster,” Akaashi inspects the wound and stands up to wash off the remaining blood, continuing from the bathroom and over the sound of the sink. “I think I’ve started to stabilize, though. But being surrounded by people is taking a toll on me.”

“Stabilizing is good, right?”

“Very,” Akaashi says curtly, cleaning the unmarked skin with a washcloth, sitting back on the bed. “Although I wouldn’t trust myself around any unguarded confectionaries.”

Bokuto laughs at that, the familiar and pleasing rumble in his chest. Akaashi smiles as he crawls back on the bed, and Bokuto starts to add the ingredients in order to the golden potion base. Akaashi sniffs the air.

“Is that apple juice?”

“It is,” Bokuto takes a sip from the beaker after he finishes pouring the right amount. “This is just an extra potent youth and protection potion, so in the modern day, at least, you use apple juice and soy sauce as a base,” He adds a brown liquid, and mixes. “The alternative is virgin blood and brick dust, which apparently has better results, but,” He shrugs, and mixes the increasingly foul liquid.

Akaashi scrunches up his nose.

“That is a terrible combination.”

“I’m adding demon blood to this,” He holds up the vial. “I don’t think taste is something they prioritized when making this recipe.”

“I think virgin blood and brick dust sounds like a much better combination.”

“Where am I going to get-” Bokuto stops himself short and carries the cauldron into the bathroom, the sound of water running filling the room before Bokuto returns, drying off his cauldron and resetting his scale. “Okay, new plan.”

He cleans off the scalpel, and makes a small incision on his own wrist, letting the viscous crimson sputter into the pot, watching his scale's numbers as it dribbles. Akaashi covers his nose, his mouth watering at the smell as it permeates, and he immediately excuses himself to go into the bathroom. It's too much, especially after thinking about the first time he tasted it. God, it was so good. He fans himself, but that just brings the smell closer, so he wafts the residual smell of apple juice and soy sauce in the sink towards him. Better, but the fresh promise of a meal, the meal of a witch under his own contract, is too strong. Too tempting. And he wouldn't be an incubus if he wasn't one to fall to temptation.

A small growl escapes his throat, and he grabs the sink, splashing some water on his face. He can feel the push of his fangs past his gums, the familiar clench in his stomach. The smell of virgin blood, he can almost taste it. He has tasted it before. Wants more.

If he could just steal another little taste…

One taste should be enough to satisfy the hunger, right?

His knuckles are white around the porcelain as it crumbles against the force of his fingers, his tail angrily swishing behind him as he looks back at the source of the smell.

One taste won’t hurt him.

One taste, and he’ll be able to save the rest for later.

He takes a step forward, his body as light as air as he tiptoes back to the room, idly licking his lips as his eyes narrow, his vision going black and white, with a few pulses of red to outline this prey. The smell alone makes him salivate, the red pulsing softly, a heartbeat, pleasure points on his neck and thighs, as well as the usual places, hot, buttery blood coursing through his prey. 

His prey takes notice, and Akaashi lets out another low growl, seduction magic heavy in the room, seeping from his pores as he eyes up his prey. If he goes for a pleasure point, this could be more than fun. If he goes for a vein, he can get exactly what he wants.

“You look... different,” The prey shakily points out, leaning down to pick up a bottle from the floor. “You feeling okay, ‘Kaashi?”

His heart thumps, and his prey isn’t dumb. If he attacks now, the prey can't get away. But no, wait. Wait for the prey to do something. Hold back. The largest pulse point quickens, and he can see the blood start to course quicker, the smell violating his nostrils, begging to be tasted, to be consumed. It smells absolutely divine, this smell. If he could just… move his feet...

“You look like you're having issues. I’m just gonna…” The prey promptly steps out of the room, holding its wrist.

It takes Akaashi all of three seconds to come down from hunting mode, his feet still firmly planted to the floor. HIs heart beats wildly in his chest, his entire being screaming at him to feed, to chase after his witch, and he manages to shuffle over to the bed. His prey's bed. His... 

No.

He puts his head in one hand, his other hand clenching his chest.

No, this is…

This is Bokuto’s blood. This is…

His mind melts into those two golden eyes, that bright smile, the rumble of his laughter. Sure, he can be annoying as hell sometimes, has mood swings that give Akaashi whiplash, and acts like a child when he’s upset, but it’s all Bokuto.

He clenches his chest harder, squeezes his eyes shut. This isn't prey, this is Bokuto. This is Bokuto. This is... Bokuto pokes his head in the room, Akaashi’s eyes locking with his. Akaashi takes a deep breath, and runs his hands through his hair. This is your witch, Akaashi, don't you dare.

“Are you less murdery now?"

Akaashi nods, leaning his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the ceiling fan just barely turning in his field of vision.

“Kuroo says I smell like sex, did you do that?” Bokuto smells himself. "I just smell sweaty."

Akaashi can’t help but let out a small laugh at that, Bokuto’s arm freshly healed from a spell, bandaid protecting what’s left. No more blood smell, other than what's slowly seeping out of the cauldron.

“I lost myself for a second there,” Akaashi admits. “I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a demon, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto leans over to pick up a bottle of brick dust, sprinkling it in until he’s satisfied.

“I have a tail,” Akaashi deadpans. "And giant pupils."

“Used to it,” Bokuto shrugs. “It’s all just… _you._ But… that was actually kinda _scary_ , Akaashi… did my blood do that?” He sends Akaashi a worried glance, Akaashi's heart sinking deep into his chest.

“It did,” Akaashi covers his eyes with his arm, breathing through his mouth, glad that the window is already open and letting out the blood smell and the seduction magic that would have affected anyone else. He can’t look at Bokuto right now, the shame alone…

“Well, I guess I should just be glad you have enough control to stop yourself like that,” Bokuto hums, stirring the potion, the smell dampered by the brick dust. “You’re strong, Akaashi. I like that about you.”

Akaashi can feel his lips pucker up in remorse, and his heart pounds against his chest, his claws still out, fangs at the ready. He’s not strong. He’s a monster. Just another demon.

“I’m not-”

“Have you ever heard the song Fergalicious?” Bokuto cuts him off, and if it was intentionally or unintentionally, Akaashi can’t say, but a song starts to play out of his phone. “Because that’s exactly what this potion party needs right now, yeah?"

Akaashi moves to cover his face with his hands, a small giggle slipping past his lips.

“You’re a dork, Koutarou.”

“A dork with an immortality potion,” He corrects, proceeding to butcher the lyrics to the song. "Fuckin' Walter White this shit."

Somehow, it all feels okay. Safe. 

And Akaashi’s almost sure that it wouldn’t, had it been anyone else.

-

“So what did you do?” Suga laughs, Daichi pushing him higher on the swing that’s way too low to the ground for full-grown adults. Oh well.

“Well, she was stuck, so we had to call the fire department.”

Suga gasps.

“No!”

“Yeah,” Daichi nods, Suga throwing his head back and ugly-cackling.

“How old was she?”

“Fourteen. Probably traumatized her.”

“Serves her right for squeezing into a baby swing,” Suga muses. 

“Right?” Daichi laughs, Suga taking control of his own swing, Daichi sitting on the swing next to him. “Little sisters man, they’re crazy.”

“I thought I wanted siblings until I got roommates,” Suga nearly misses digging his leg into the wood chips below the swing. “They’re almost like siblings, and they’re all too much sometimes.”

“They can’t be that bad,” Daichi rolls his eyes playfully. “Try having a panicky nurse living with you.”

“I raise you a smug soapmaker.”

“I don’t even know what Ennoshita’s job is,” Daichi tries. “And I’m pretty sure he has no idea, either.”

“I live with _Oikawa,”_ Suga pumps his legs, getting too high for comfort and letting himself just drift a bit. 

“He doesn’t seem too bad. I mean, I’ve met Iwaizumi and he seems like he doesn’t mind too much.”

“Only cause Oikawa is secretly the sappiest person in the world,” Suga grins fondly. “I like my roommates, though. Everyone has their own… quirks.”

“Family,” Daichi surmises, and Suga nods with his lips pressed into a firm line.

“Family.”

“Speaking of which," Daichi gives him a push that nearly knocks the air out of his lungs, moving Daichi's swing left and right. "You’ve listened to me rant all about my siblings all night. When are you gonna rant about your life?”

It’s true. After tonight, Suga can list every best friend Daichi’s had since high school, can talk about how Daichi’s little siblings were twenty, eighteen, and fourteen, how his twenty year old sister got stuck in a baby swing when she was fourteen, how his eighteen year old sister had come out as trans when she was sixteen, and how proud Daichi was of her. His two little brothers didn’t get much mentioning, but as far as Suga can tell, they’re twins in middle school and have entered the “we don’t care about family” stage of life.

He could talk about how Daichi was team captain of his high school volleyball team, even if they never made it to nationals. It’s not like Claremont High ever made it past regionals, either. Daichi had even opened up about his time in therapy for his anxiety, which is something Suga’s wholly grateful for. He can respect someone so honest.

Suga scrunches up his nose at the thought of his own life.

“There’s not much to rant about, really. I mean, my mom died when I was pretty young,” Suga kicks the ground to slow down the swing. “Dad’s simultaneously not in my life and yet always there.”

Great. Now his date knows he has daddy issues.

“We don’t need to talk about that if it makes you uncomfortable, Suga,” Daichi says pointedly, noticing Suga's grimace. “I wanna get to know more about _you_ , whatever that entails. Parents, sure. Roommates? Well, they’re also your family. I went on and on about my family just because I’m kinda nervous and there’s not much else going on for me that you don’t already know. But what about _you?”_

Suga slows to a stop, and turns towards Daichi.

“Well, I like spicy food,” Suga starts, and Daichi breaks out into a smile.

“Spicy or like, white person spicy?”

“Real spice,” Suga nods proudly. “My grandma and grandmama left a recipe that’s to die for. Literally. I think the spice level might have killed grandmama.”

“Grandma and grandmama?” Daichi raises an eyebrow, and Suga nods.

“Lesbian grandmas,” He clicks his tongue and does finger guns for some unearthly reason. He almost blushes and cringes until Daichi lets out a hearty laugh.

“Okay, you win best grandparents,” He looks up at the sky. “Mine still ask when I’m going to get a wife. Deadname my sister even though we’ve explained everything. Needless to say, they don’t really get Thanksgiving or Christmas invitations anymore. A happier time for all of us.”

Suga nods, and joins Daichi in looking up at the sky. There’s only a few stars out, washed out by the yellow of the lamppost that bathes the park in a harsh yellow glow. Well, time to ramble.

“My dad keeps sending me pictures with all his new lovers,” Suga lets out, Daichi giving him a sideways glance. Dammit, Suga, not that. “Haven’t told any of my roommates that yet. My family is… really open with our sexuality. Orientation, action, everything around it.”

“I thought you said your dad basically kept you in a chastity belt,” Daichi’s brow furrows. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best topic of conversation. Especially with... Suga shakes the thought from his head, scolding himself.

“Yeah, well,” Suga gestures vaguely. “Apparently as soon as you turn twenty-one you can just go fuckin’ wild.”

“Is that so?” Daichi hums, and Suga pushes his shoulder to keep Daichi from seeing the red creep up his ears.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Daichi, my poor chastity-belted heart can only take so much.”

Daichi chuckles, and starts to rock back and forth in his swing.

“I wasn’t thinking about a damn thing, Suga,” He teases. “Except that you look really pretty tonight.”

Now that, that gets Suga to fully blush.

“Thanks, Akaashi did my makeup,” He stumbles over the words, his heart throbbing ever so slightly. “It… makes me feel pretty. My dad and I,” He bites his lip. “He wears a little, for work. Don’t ask what he does, though, I… we used to do our makeup together when I was super little. Wore it once to school and never wore it again. Tanaka punched someone who called me a… well, let's just say he’s always had my back.”

"Punched someone?" Daichi whistles.

"Gave the kid a black eye and everything."

“Did I ever tell you I have a police record?” Daichi drops with the mischievous addition of a grin, a wild look in his eyes.

“What, did you steal someone’s heart?” Suga cringes at his own joke, but it’s oddly freeing to be this embarrassing.

“Punched someone that tried to grope my oldest sister’s, uh, you know,” He motions to his chest. “When we took a trip down to Florida a few years ago. Lost a tooth in that fight, roughed the other guy up a lot more, and now I’m blacklisted from some Red Lobster in Florida.”

“Red Lobster?” Suga cackles. “You really are a badass, Daichi. Truly a madlad.”

“I try,” Daichi sticks out his tongue. “But yeah, fuck Florida.”

“Truly the worst state,” Suga agrees with a chuckle across his lips. “Have you seen the headlines? You can’t make that shit up. Bokuto used to go all the time as a kid, apparently, and I blame fucking Florida for the way he is now.”

“Did his hair come from Florida?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

A yawn squeezes its way out of Suga’s mouth, and he tries his best to cover it, Daichi watching him the entire time. Suga shakes it off, and looks at Daichi, who stares back with a dreamy look in his eyes. Oh, if looks could kill. Well, if looks could kill he'd have a higher body count than just one. Technically, his looks did kill Kobayashi, since he didn't even touch the guy. Huh. Looks _can_ kill.

“What?”

“You have a cute yawn.”

“Oh shut up,” Suga rolls his eyes, swinging his leg out to kick at Daichi. 

“Like a kitten-”

“Now you’re just being mean,” Suga’s foot makes contact with Daichi, but Daichi grabs his leg and pulls, Suga making a “hup” sound as he falls off the swing and directly into the wood chips.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so-”

Suga kicks him off the swing.

“Now we’re even.”

“You’re a lot more evil than you look,” Daichi wheezes from the wood chips.

“Yeah, well, lots of people say that,” Suga brushes himself off, helping Daichi up. "Sorry you had to find out about my evil nature this early."

"Dark secrets are definitely more of a third or fourth date kinda thing," Daichi agrees.

His hand is warm, rough yet smooth at the same time, the hand of someone that moisturizes but not enough. Suga’s always had the calloused hands of a setter, but Kuroo’s soap is surprisingly moisturizing, returning his hands to what they were when he was younger. Just… don’t let Kuroo know he said that. He can’t ruin the unspoken joke that Kuroo is actually talented at his job.

He stares down at Daichi's clothes, his figure basking in the harsh light of the lamp as he stands straight. Suga blindly brushes the wood chips off of his upper back, not realizing he’s pulled Daichi into a hug until he looks up and meets Daichi’s eyes.

“Hi there,” Daichi grins.

“Hello,” Suga returns with a short giggle, slowing his movements, and something like permission dances across Daichi’s eyes.

He lifts himself up to close the gap, and locks his lips with Daichi’s. It’s nothing if not sweet, nothing greedy, or needy, just Suga and Daichi taking only what the other gives. It's soft where lips are rough, sweet where breaths are hot, and Suga sinks back down on his heels, the lamppost flickering and pulsing in tandem to the flutter of his heart against his chest. 

Hopefully Daichi doesn’t notice.

His eyes go right to it.

Dammit. 

His eyes return to Suga’s own, and he pulls away from Suga’s grasp, sneaking his hand to interlock hands. They’re still warm, a little sweaty, but Suga’s hand has never felt so comfortable. 

“Anything else you wanna do?” He clears his throat, and Suga checks "semi-passionate kiss" off of his date checklist.

“Dinner, ice cream, _and_ a park date?” Suga fake-gasps. “Save something for next time.”

“Next time?” Daichi asks as they start making their way back to the residential area. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Of course. There’s still the picnic date, the iconic stargazing date, and the date where I try to cook the recipe I told you about and it fails and we just order a pizza or Chinese takeout.”

“What about the one where I cook you something that makes you wish you never had taste buds?”

“That’s exactly what grandmama’s spicy tofu will do to you,” Suga nods, totally serious. “But I guess we can both be disasters in the kitchen.”

“Hm, too bad, I do most of the cooking for my roommates. Hate to disappoint, but I'm kinda good in the kitchen.”

“And I can make a great box of spaghetti.”

“Sounds perfect,” Daichi squeezes his hand, the two of them continuing the idly banter the entire way back home.

The walk is comfortable, but a small sense of dread starts to build in Suga’s stomach. 

_He doesn’t want to go home just yet._

But then again, he can see Daichi from his bedroom window, so what is distance, anyways? He already uses magic to sometimes spy on him, even though the portals are somewhat random and now focus on either Ennoshita typing on his laptop or god forbid show the work Asahi does at work. Seriously, he accidentally dropped a portal in on Asahi giving an old woman a sponge bath, and it was… not something Suga had ever wanted to see.

Now that he thinks about it, that’s really creepy on his part. Maybe that was his karma for spying on people. Daichi snaps in front of his face, and he blinks the image of the naked ninety year old away, his house coming into focus. 

Daichi takes the few extra steps to walk him up to his door, and steals another kiss from Suga, this time a little mouthier, a little greedier, not that Suga minds. After the night he’s had, what he’s learned, Daichi can stand to be a little selfish. He himself can take a little more, if Daichi’s willing to match the pace.

“Next time,” Daichi moves the kiss to Suga’s forehead. “That spicy tofu sounds amazing.”

“Friday, then,” Suga nods, putting his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll make you the spiciest goddamn tofu you’ve ever seen, smelled, or tasted.”

“All thanks to grandmama,” Daichi steps back, a huge idiotic grin plastered on his face.

“All thanks to grandmama,” Suga nods, flashing Daichi one more smile before wishing him a goodnight and closing the door, burying his heated face in his hands, smiling giddily.

“So…” Kuroo’s voice sing-songs from the living room, Suga freezing as he turns to face Kuroo and Kenma, wrapped up in a blanket and watching reruns of Jeopardy. He sighs, kicks his shoes off, and shuffles over to sit on the couch and steal their popcorn. “How did it go?”

His smile widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler if you're weird and skipped to the notes I guess??
> 
> Me: I'm gonna write the fluffiest chapter
> 
> Also me: *adds witch hunters and issues for the coven, Oikawa and Iwa are crying and talking about death, Kenma has another nightmare and implied that he's hurt Kuroo in his sleep, Akaashi literally almost eats Bokuto but is saved by the power of Gay, and Suga is the only one who's straight up having a good time right now*
> 
> Also yes that is Terushima and Ushijima. I thought they would make for the funniest witch hunting duo since I already wrote Makki and Mattsun in as cafe owners and Tendou as the most chaotic side character. C'est la vie. 
> 
> Oh and thank you for?? Theorizing over this?? Idk I've been publishing my writing since 2014 for different fandoms and I've never gotten a comment theorizing what's gonna happen and I'm actually shook. Your comments keep me going, I get so fucking giddy over them, y'all are great. Truly.


	12. Cradles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was inspired and decided to make a "trailer"(?) for this fanfic! If you're interested, it can be found [here.](https://www.instagram.com/p/CI1z3NAhuH-/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)
> 
> Chapter song: Cradles by Sub Urban

Ennoshita has spent the better part of a week watching _that_ house from his back porch, and so far…

He’s got nothing.

Absolutely _nothing._

Daichi, being the perfect and stupidly caring roommate he is, helped him submit a police report for the “wild man” that had attacked him in the woods that night. The bruises are almost gone, now, with Asahi getting overly concerned and totally knowing that it was a handprint upon first glance. It’s been hard, too hard, to keep up the facade. And it hurts, lying to Asahi and Daichi like this. To let Daichi walk head first into what might be a demon den, but Daichi’s too stupidly happy for Ennoshita to bring himself to do anything.

He doesn’t even truly know if it was the “real” Suga that had attacked him or not. Witch, maybe. Demon, more likely. Demon pretending to be his neighbor? A reach, but at this point, after experiencing the woods that shift, and the constant feeling that he’s being watched, and the goddamn firsthand experience, he won’t rule anything out.

Still, he watches the house. He watched when Daichi and Suga got home from their first date, watched when they got home from their second date, grimaced and closed the blinds when they started almost making out on Suga’s front porch, and watched Suga leave for work on his bike that goes just the slightest bit too fast. 

He watched Kuroo and some other dude (he assumes is the phantom sixth roommate) as they went and came back from clothes shopping, considering the numerous bags they had from the most local clothing store that wasn’t also a Walmart. He even watched Oikawa and Iwaizumi leave yesterday morning with duffel bags and a car he’s never seen before.

Where they got the car, Ennoshita has no idea. It definitely wasn’t a rental, and for two good reasons. First, they’re both under twenty-five, and the car was _nice._ If one of them had a secret fortune hidden away, they could probably get a car like that, but one of them makes too-bitter coffee at a café and the other works in a bookstore, so it just doesn’t add up.

Well, maybe he didn’t have _nothing_ after all. He now knows that at least one of six people in the house is secretly loaded.

His money is on Bokuto, but it would have been on Akaashi if he didn’t already suspect that Akaashi was also a demon. Then again, he doesn’t know enough about demons to disprove that they can be rich. All he knows for sure is that his throat fucking hurts.

And that when there’s demons, there’s witches. So either 1) this house is infested with demons that killed their witch handler, 2) one of them is a super powerful witch with a demon army, 3) only Suga and Akaashi are demons, or 4) they were all completely normal humans and Ennoshita is losing it.

There is potential that what attacked him was a shapeshifting demon, right? Potential that Daichi, his best friend of a few years now, is seeing someone completely human and _normal,_ and that the demon in the woods had taken Suga’s form for some reason.

Maybe this is divine retribution for his ancestors being witches. 

It made sense, with no recent reports of any witchy Sugawaras. It either means that someone in Suga’s immediate family had chosen the path of humanity and he’s descended from them, that Suga himself isn’t entirely human, or that they are just really, _really_ good at hiding the fact that they were witches.

Or entirely terrible.

They fit every stereotype, after all.

He jumps when someone knocks on the front door, and he quickly moves to answer it, pulling Kinoshita inside without so much as a second glance, but he does take a few seconds to look at the old house, making eye contact with Kuroo as he closes the curtains. Well, that’s not concerning at all.

“Took you long enough.”

Kinoshita practically falls into the room, and stumbles his way to the kitchen table, plopping down with his bag.

“Sorry, this little town isn’t exactly map-friendly,” Kinoshita mutters, rubbing the spot that Ennoshita had grabbed. “Do you know how many one way backroads I accidentally went down?”

“I know, I know,” Ennoshita pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I’m just… stressed.”

“Okay, so this is _serious,_ serious,” He surmises as Ennoshita takes the seat across from him. “Your turn to answer questions. Why am I here?”

“What do we have on demons?” Ennoshita folds his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes dull, tired. He looks rough around the edges, and Kinoshita can only guess how the past week’s been.

“Is that what gave you those wicked bruises?” Kinoshita looks at the fading bruises on Ennoshita’s neck, and whistles. “Well, demons mean witches, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know that,” Ennoshita frowns. “But can demons shapeshift?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Kinoshita pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Some of the more powerful ones might be able to, to some extent. Why?”

“The demon that attacked me?” Ennoshita spins his laptop around to show the file he’s started. “It was Sugawara.”

Kinoshita hums, and pulls up his own files.

“Might be a demon, might not be,” He types something, and deflates. “Yeah, I see what you mean when you said you needed a second opinion. First of all, are you sure it’s the same Sugawara lineage?”

“No,” Ennoshita runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated sigh, the sigh doing very little to relieve the stress building up in his shoulders. He’s honestly surprised he hasn’t sprouted grey hair yet. “But the neighbors are definitely weird enough to make me question it.”

Kinoshita simply nods and types a few things up, propping his head up on his elbow, reading through what he’s written.

“Second of all, are you okay?” The question passes through his lips like a breath, like he didn’t speak at all. “No matter what it was that attacked you, you were attacked. That’s gotta have some effect on you, right?”

Ennoshita rests his forehead against the table, lets out a deep breath, and looks up at Kinoshita, the dark circles even more evident under his eyes.

“Honestly? I’m just tired. I’m sick of the non-informational tasks and things and I’m more than glad I didn’t go into physical hunting. I’m much more attune to sitting on the sidelines.”

“It’s good to have you on our team, Chikara,” Kinoshita nods with a small smile, ruffles Ennoshita’s hair, and goes back to his laptop. “Okay, so you said purple eyes?”

“Glowing purple eyes,” Ennoshita corrects.

“And no other features? Tail? Wings? Anything else remotely demonic?”

“He had my throat in his hand, I had other things to think about,” Ennoshita huffs. “No, just the purple eyes. But he did refer to himself as ‘more demon than witch’.”

Kinoshita hums in thought, and pushes his laptop aside, opening his mouth and closing it like he’s debating on if he should say something or not. He decides to say it, and starts slowly.

“Well, Ushijima and Terushima have been digging on their own-”

Ennoshita sits straight up, eyes wide. “Why are _they_ here?” 

“You were attacked by a thing claiming to be a demon after asking me about files on dangerous witches, how could I not call for help?” Kinoshita furrows his brow. “I was worried and you obviously weren’t going to take action.”

“But them?” Ennoshita’s frown deepens.

“They can do a hell of a lot more than we can,” Kinoshita shrugs. 

Ennoshita groans.

“Things just got a lot more complicated, didn’t they?”

“If there’s witches here, they’ll find them. Witches, demons, hell, if there’s even so much as an energy vampire, they’ll find it.”

Ennoshita stares down at the table, then nods.

“You’re right,” He closes his eyes, accepting it. “No, you’re right. This is out of my league, and I’m going to leave it to the professionals.”

“Atta boy,” Kinoshita slaps his shoulder, grinning. “They know what they’re doing.”

“I sure hope so, because whatever it was, it was strong.”

Ennoshita shivers, the image of violet flashing in his mind, his throat throbbing with the memory. He’ll find out what it was that attacked him, even if it meant leaving his comfort zone. After all, he has Terushima and Ushijima to put his blind faith in.

“So,” Another voice sleepily slowly draws out from the staircase, Ennoshita and Kinoshita freezing in their seats, Asahi’s figure shuffling into view. “Am I still dreaming or did you just seriously talk about demons and witches?”

Ennoshita’s jaw drops, and Asahi yawns, rubbing his eyes.

“I thought you were at work,” Ennoshita squaks, heart dropping into his stomach. “Your car is gone-”

“Daichi took it to go grocery shopping,” Asahi sleepily shuffles over to the table and sits down. “Now,” He stares at Ennoshita from behind his curtain of bedhead. “Why don’t you tell me the truth about your bruises?”

Ennoshita purses his lips, and Asahi continues.

“I’m not an idiot, Ennoshita. I know that your story was bullshit and that the bruises were a handprint,” Asahi sighs. “I may work all the time and not be around the house as much, but I’m not stupid. I know you’re hiding something. I know this entire town is hiding something! So if you know something, please,” He clasps his hands together. “Please don’t carry it alone.”

Ennoshita stares, half-shocked. Asahi, who still sleeps with a cat stuffed animal, hides behind his hands during scary movies, and pales at the mere mention of gore, wants to know about something that could potentially kill him. For _his_ sake. His heart hangs heavy, and the words slip out before he can truly weigh them.

“If I do, you gotta make a promise,” He sucks in a sharp breath. “One that you absolutely cannot break. If you can’t make it, then leave, pretend this conversation never happened.”

Asahi pulls his hair out of his face, and firmly nods. Ennoshita looks at him, then to Kinoshita, who urges him with a slight nod. 

“Daichi can’t know,” Ennoshita licks his lips. “Otherwise he’s in the most danger.”

Asahi grimly but eventually nods, and Ennoshita continues, from the beginning.

Maybe, _just maybe,_ one person knowing isn’t _so_ bad.

-

Suga takes a seat in the forest leaves and groans, laying on his back, staring up at the sunless sky. It’s cloudy, yet perfectly bright.

“Why is this forest always so damn bright?” He wonders aloud, resting his head on his arms. “At least the birds are gone.”

He speaks too soon, and a crow perches on the branch above him. It looks at him, its eyes a little glazed over yet fully determined to stare at him, and it lightly squawks. He scrunches up his nose, groans, and turns his attention to the approaching figure.

Himself, with glowing purple eyes. Great. This bitch.

“Okay, what is it today? Am I going to strangle Daichi again? Are we going to unpack my family issues? Hell, why not just bring back the volleyball nosebleed incident.”

His mirror-self chuckles, and crouches down next to him, running his hand along the fallen leaves that cover the forest floor. 

“I’m no therapist, but if you want someone to talk to, well,” His mirror-self clicks his tongue. “Who better to listen to you than me?”

Suga huffs, and closes his eyes, listening to the still silence of the forest. The crow flaps a little, squawks again, and another few flaps join. He opens his eyes, and the crow multiplies into six identical crows, all squawking in unison. He frowns, and turns to face his mirror-self.

“You know, Bokuto made me read a book on dream analysis. Prophetic dreams. Is this one of them?” He points to the crows.

“Like I have the answer to that,” His mirror-self rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands, kicking his legs out under him. “What do crows mean?”

“Death, usually,” Suga looks up at the branch, watching as one of the crows preens another, the one next to it cawing loudly as it ruffles its own feathers. “It’s probably why they’re called a murder.”

“Hm,” His mirror-self hums in amusement. “I’m not too sure about that, but I like the way you think. Groups of crows, of dark and death, literally a murder when together. Poetic, really, but not outside of English,” He joins Suga in his impromptu bird-watching. “In Greek mythology, they’re the birds of prophecy. Of luck. Although, it’s still a great insult to tell someone to go to the crows in Greek. Duality, I always figured.”

Suga nods in agreement, and stares up at the white sky, like the clouds hang low in the sky, yet is somehow perfectly clear. A clear sky, inverted. He can’t tell if he’s on the ground or flying, with how light his body feels. 

The forest feels so empty in his dreams, the spirits of the original witches not daring to exist in such limbo. If they were here, Suga has a sneaking suspicion that the figure next to him wouldn’t have such free reign. 

But this is his own headscape. A private conversation with himself.

“So,” Suga lays on his side, staring up at his own face, purple eyes looking back down at him. “Let’s say my dreams _are prophetic._ What does that make you?”

The face grins, and Suga cringes. Does he always look that sinister when he smiles? Or is it just his doppelganger that makes him look so intimidating? He should probably work on his self confidence if his mental image of himself is so… this.

“A guide, maybe?” He scratches his chin, puffing out his chest.. “Or just a part of you that knows what it’s doing.”

“Guide me, then,” Suga props himself up on his elbow. “There are two new witch hunters in town, I keep having nightmares, and my dad wants me to go even Darker. So, if you really are a guide, or if you really do know what you’re doing, what do I do?”

He hums in thought, kicking his legs a little as the hum turns to a small rendition of “The Parting Glass”. He looks back at Suga, his eyes flickering.

“I’d say going Darker would be a good thing. Sure, you’d be good at potions, good at spellcasting, but you’ll only ever be _good,”_ He continues. “Have you ever considered that dear ol’ dad might be right for once?”

Suga scowls, and turns his attention back to the crows, where a seventh and eighth crow have since perched on either side of the one that had been squawking. He empties his lungs and closes his eyes again, feeling the absent sun’s heat graze his face.

It’s nice. Warm. Peaceful.

“Let’s say I swallow my pride and take up a different pathway,” He breathes with a short count to five. “Which one do I take?”

“I have an idea,” His mirror-self ruffles his hair, a smirk plastered to his lips. Suga blows a rogue strand out of his face. “And you do, too. But we’re almost out of time.”

His mirror-self frowns, and carefully smooths down Suga’s hair, tangling the strands between his fingers. He looks sad, his eyes longing for something, his gaze like an x-ray, and Suga can feel it pierce through him. 

“Unfortunately, my dear little Koushi, this is still a nightmare,” He coos before giving his head a final firm pat, standing up and brushing himself off. Suga sits up, holding his knees against his chest. “But I can promise that it’s not real this time.”

Before he has time to comprehend the meaning of the words, he watches his mirror-self produce a knife from his sleeve, shooting Suga an apologetic glance as he kneels over a new figure laying in the leaves. It’s none other than Daichi, bound and gagged in the center of a salt circle.

Yeah, this might as well happen.

Suga stands to drag his feet up to the salt circle, realizing that it’s less of a circle, and more of a collection of separated lines that wiggle their way around Daichi’s body like petals. Daichi screams against the gag, fighting against the ropes with all of his might. He pleads with his eyes, teary and dark, red and puffy, but Suga turns his attention to his own figure, who’s moving to straddle Daichi.

“You know, there’s a phrase for this, Koushi,” He knowingly says, raising the knife over his head, staring right at Suga, eyes sparkling. Suga’s mouth goes dry.

“What is it?” The words come hoarse.

But his mirror-self doesn’t answer. He grins, eyes darkening into deep violet voids, and plunges the knife into Daichi’s chest.

-

“Looks like Ennoshita has other friends,” Kuroo peers out of the window as he closes the curtains. “Good for him.”

He turns back around and sticks his hands in his pockets as he strides back over to the couch, Kenma boredly propping himself up on the armrest. Akaashi is cross-legged in one of the armchairs, the tinny sound of a fork scraping the plate in his hand as he eats some leftover pie. Bokuto sits next to him, cringing at every small sound Akaashi makes. 

Kuroo looks at Suga, who’s trying to facetime Oikawa, who finally joins in with a terrible case of bedhead.

“This better be good,” Oikawa’s sleepy voice rings out, slightly distorted, his image sitting up in bed, glimpses of an equally tired-looking Iwaizumi sneaking into frame next to him.

“Happy birthday, bitch,” Suga smiles, the smile lines by his eyes only emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. He turns the camera around so that the rest of the room can wish him the same.

“You did not wake me up at ten in the morning to wish me a happy birthday,” Oikawa groans.

“Of course not!” Kuroo smiles darkly. “Family meeting.”

“‘M hanging up,” He threatens. “Just text me the main points. I’m on vacation. Leave me alone.”

“What, so you can go back to having fun, hot birthday sex with your boyfriend?” Suga shakes his head. “Not gonna happen, how dare you have a healthy relationship with your boyfriend when the rest of us are suffering.”

“Oh shut up, Suga, it’s not like you weren’t swapping spit with Daichi on our front porch the other night,” Oikawa sighs. “Fine. What is it today? More witch hunters? Is Bokuto dead yet? Did I miss Akaashi finally snapping?”

“Hey-” Bokuto feigns hurt. “Actually, there was a small fire at the bakery yesterday, but I blame Goshiki.”

Everyone goes quiet to stare at Bokuto, who doesn’t look even the slightest bit fazed, and then Kuroo continues the meeting with a short disapproving shake of his head.

“Our grace period for Kobayashi’s death has run out, and we have to start doing dark deeds again,” He frowns. “But, we have to limit how much magic we use in order to not be found. The witch hunters were back in town yesterday, doing another round of…” He gestures as he looks for the word. It doesn’t come. “Witch hunting.”

“So,” Suga’s voice goes low. “Bigger acts?”

Kuroo nods, and the room starts to turn static.

“No more enchanting coffee to spill on people’s shirts, no telekinesis to untie shoes, no fires in the bakery-”

“I don’t need magic to set fire in the bakery,” Bokuto rolls his eyes. “I can just use a blowtorch.”

Kuroo’s face scrunches up. Maybe he should have a chat with Tendou about Bokuto’s fire privileges, or fireproof the town, just in case. Yeah, that’s probably a better idea. In the short time he’s known him, he’s gathered enough to know that Tendou loves fire way too much to limit how much he allows in his bakery.

Maybe he should fireproof Tendou, for good measure.

“Is that what Dark covens do?” Kenma looks at Kuroo. “I thought you were more into… you know. Curses, murder…”

“Not us,” Kuroo reassures, resting his hand on Kenma’s thigh before quickly recoiling, clearing his throat a little. “Um, we’re a little unconventional.”

Kenma snorts, and Kuroo continues.

“But now we need bigger acts. No murder, no evil curses, no property damage,” He lists things off on his fingers, and pouts. “What else is there?”

“We could ask other covens what they do,” Bokuto suggests. “I have to go to the library to brag to Konoha that my elixir of life is actually working out, I can ask around, or look for an alternative,” He gasps, and looks to his right. “Akaashi, you can come help!”

“Why would I-” Akaashi stops himself and sighs, putting his fork down on the empty plate. “Okay, if you so wish, a demon’s job is to help their witch, after all.” 

“That’s the spirit, ‘Kaashi!”

“I should go, too,” Suga grabs a book off of the coffee table. “Have to return this book, anyways.”

“Did you find anything useful?” Bokuto questions.

Suga stares down at the book in his hands, running his thumb over the cover.

“I had another one last night,” He continues. “Eight crows, talking to my inner witch or whatever, and then…” He frowns, brow furrowing. “I can’t remember the last part. I think there was something with Daichi but I’ve forgotten.”

He puts the book down and holds his head in his hands, shaking his leg a bit as he thinks.

“I think I remember that one of the crows… multiplied?” He starts flipping through the book.

“Is that really prophetic, though?” Oikawa’s voice joins in from where he’s been discarded on the table. “I mean, if Suga’s having dreams about bird sex, I don-”

“I am not having dreams about bird sex,” Suga seethes, picking up the phone with a scowl. “Just… enjoy your birthday, go be annoying to someone else,” He hangs up and shoves his phone back into his pocket, still flipping through the book before letting out a strangled groan. “Dammit, I wish I could remember these dreams.”

“Maybe we should all go,” Kuroo suggests.

“Is that really a good idea?” Bokuto looks up at Kuroo, his eyes the smallest bit duller, worried. “I’ve been lots of times, and when a whole coven appears, people start talking. Not the people I talk to, even though Hinata does gossip a little, but knowing how fast word spreads, there would be Dark witches everywhere to support us, and they aren’t so kind.”

Kuroo hums. Yeah, some of the Darker witches might take matters into their own hands, and that’s not good for anyone. The neighbors, the town, and the witch hunters themselves. Witch hunters may be the scum of the earth, but they don’t deserve to be killed.

Been there, done that, saved Kenma, and they’re done.

No more killing.

“Alright, I’ll hold down the fort,” Kuroo sighs. “But I do believe that we should keep magic to a minimum, just enough to keep us from getting magic fever and to keep the balance. Maybe this will all blow over?”

He’s not too hopeful, but he can fake it.

“I’ll try to find something while I’m there,” Suga sits up. “I don’t think we can fully hide magic, but we might be able to mess with any possible tracking devices.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Of course,” Suga stands up and pushes the block of wood off of the cauldron. “We need magic to reach the library, so just… be careful while we’re gone, okay? We don’t know who’s tracking us, or how long it’ll take them to find us.”

“If they find us,” Bokuto tries to be hopeful.

“Right,” Kuroo purses his lips. “‘If’.”

Again, he isn’t too hopeful, and Suga opens the portal.

-

Tanaka reaches into his pocket, frowning as the compass spins before steadying in one direction, Nishinoya sipping on a milkshake in front of him. He places it on the counter, and the needle goes fully rigid towards the residential part of town.

“So,” Nishinoya stares at the compass, taking a long sip. “Are we going to follow that one day? Or just stare at it?”

Tanaka lets out a deep breath, and looks at Nishinoya, his eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. 

“Noya, I think you and I both know where it leads.”

He fits the compass back into his pocket, and starts wiping down the counter. 

“Still,” Nishinoya leans on the counter, kicking his legs. “I think we should make plans for another demon hunt. We have questions that need answers, and we finally have a place to find them.”

Tanaka stops wiping down the counter, eyes flickering up to Nishinoya, then returns to wiping the counter.

“Maybe.”

It’s his way of saying ‘yes’.

-

“Sir, your demon needs to sign in, too.”

The nonchalant lady at the front desk taps the sign in sheet, and Akaashi reluctantly grabs the pen, signing his family name underneath Bokuto’s messy scrawl. 

“First name, too,” She adds, and he gives her a stern look, setting the pen down on the paper with attitude. She just shrugs, and leans back in her chair. “Worth a shot.”

“I’ll meet you two back near Konoha in an hour or so,” Suga walks off towards the book return, and Bokuto motions for Akaashi to follow him into the center room, which leads to an impressive library full of boisterous noises, flying books, and small explosions.

Yep, this is exactly what he expected any library Bokuto frequents to look like.

And no, the stares of the other witches near the entrance don’t go unnoticed, like they’ve never seen a demon before. Maybe it was the fact he looked close to human? That they knew he was powerful? Or maybe they can just tell he’s an incubus, and that makes everything a lot more awkward.

Either way, he crosses his arms over his chest, and follows Bokuto to a potion workstation inhabited only by a blonde with fogged up goggles, gloves on his hands as he handles something that smells simultaneously like sulfur and nothing at all. Demon blood, but infinitely less foul than his own.

Bokuto clears his throat, and the blonde looks up, his eyes falling directly on Akaashi. His eyes go wide as he removes his goggles, and he steps away from the potion.

“Holy hell, Bokuto, you weren’t kidding,” He gawks, looking Akaashi up and down. “Damn, how in hell are you still alive? Aren’t Akaashi demons notorious for seducing witches?”

“Haven’t you heard?” He beams. “All the cool witches are asexual now.”

The blonde pushes him and blows a raspberry.

“You and your dumb luck,” He rolls his eyes. “You probably did something dumb and summoned him for companionship or something like that.”

Bokuto deflates, twiddling his thumbs. “...No.”

“That’s exactly what he did,” Akaashi corrects.

The blonde chuckles at that, and removes his gloves, holding one hand out for Akaashi to shake. 

“Akinori Konoha,” He introduces. “Just call me Konoha, and I didn’t catch your first name.”

Akaashi gives him a flat look, which deepens Konoha’s amused laugh.

“Okay, fine, sorry, but it was worth a shot.”

“That’s exactly what the front desk lady said,” Bokuto wonders. “What’s so special about Akaashi’s first name?”

“You’d be able to control me completely,” Akaashi answers, shifting uncomfortably. “I’d feed off of whatever contract you summoned me for, and I’d be under your control until one of us dies.”

“Oh,” Bokuto’s hair droops. “I don’t want that.”

“Which is why you’ll never find out,” Akaashi gives a pointed look to Konoha, eyes narrowed, sure that some of the red of his irises have slipped through. “Now, _Konoha,_ we’re here to find out what your coven does to keep the balance.”

Konoha nods, and looks back to Bokuto, rolling his shoulders and massaging his neck.

“Your demon is kinda pushy, Bo.”

“I’m not yours to control,” Akaashi says curtly as he takes a seat and crosses his legs, his tail starting to flick back and forth in annoyance.

Konoha nods, a small smile on his lips as he takes a seat across from Bokuto.

“I like him,” Konoha nods towards Akaashi. “He’s… everything you’re not.”

“Are you saying I’m not pretty?” Bokuto pouts, and Akaashi stares at Bokuto.

He thinks Akaashi is pretty?

Akaashi clears his throat, and looks away, watching out of the corner of his eye as Suga approaches a ginger witch, who in turn introduces Suga to the tall dark-haired witch next to him. He turns his attention back to Konoha, and Konoha leans forward.

“So, why do you want to know what my coven does? Out of ideas?”

“More like we just need to step it up a bit,” Bokuto insists, lying through his teeth. “Usually we do frequent but small acts of mischief, but The Dark Ones are kinda on our case about meeting quotas.”

Konoha’s face scrunches up in confusion. 

“Didn’t Suga just kill a man?”

“Well,” Bokuto shrugs, ears getting red. “We can’t just kill someone every time the earth pulls towards the Light.”

“I mean, some covens do, but I can’t imagine you killing someone, so,” Konoha thinks. “My coven does dream magic, mainly,” He stands up and grabs his grimoire and a sheet of paper, copying down a recipe. “There’s a powder you can make, and whoever ingests it will have a nightmare. Just one night, one nightmare, with the correct dosage. Brings forth dread and negativity, playing on their worst fears, and the negativity alone is enough to balance out the Light. Just, be careful not to go above the recommended dose, and to only give it to mortals.”

That seems to unsettle Bokuto.

“What happens if a witch ingests it?”

Konoha lets air out of his nose, and passes the recipe to Bokuto.

“Washio puts it in the drinks he mixes, and one night, I was just too tired, stressed, and overworked, so I did a shot of tequila,” He puts his hands on the table. “It was wild. Terrible. I think that’s the only night I’ve ever had a prophetic dream, but it made me completely spaz out. I was sleep-casting, attacked Washio with telekinesis, and my dreams were just all about my worst fears,” He stares ahead, eyes glazed over, voice softening. “My entire coven, killed by hunters.”

“I’m really sorry, Konoha,” Bokuto puts his hand over Konoha’s, and Konoha recoils, looking down at the recipe as he clears his throat.

“It’s fine, I mean, everyone is okay,” He meets Bokuto’s eyes, looks away, and meets them again. “The first part came true, I mean, it was about finding some rare potion ingredient and I came across it one day when I recognized it from the dream, but…” He cringes. “I’m scared the second part is going to come true, too. Prophetic dreams are awful, I did some research on it, and apparently only the first parts are the parts that actually come to pass, but the second parts are always so real, so harrowing.”

Konoha draws circles on the table with his finger, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before continuing.

“And while I was sleep-casting, apparently everything I was doing in the dream was happening in real life, too. I was trying to save Saru from a witch hunter, and ended up nearly strangling Washio with telekinesis, thinking he was a threat. When I finally snapped out of it, recovered, he said my witch form was out and everything, glowing green eyes, overpowered, symptoms of magic exertion, the whole shebang.”

“So,” Bokuto says carefully, gingerly distancing himself from the recipe after he finishes copying it. “Don’t go overboard and stay the hell away from it. Got it.”

Konoha blows air out of his nose, and tries to smile. 

“Yeah, be careful with it,” He looks at his potion as it starts to bubble, giving it a small stir, and then he turns back to Bokuto. “I know other covens do more physical things like small injuries, or they mildly curse people. Both are long-term, and you only have to cast a few to be set for a while. I think Kageyama is here if you want to ask him about mild curses.”

Bokuto purses his lips, and looks over his grimoire. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” Bokuto looks at Akaashi, then sighs. “Actually, no, what about glamouring spells? Anything that might hide a witch’s mark?”

“Have you tried makeup?” Konoha snorts, and Bokuto gives him a blank look. “Okay, fine, yes, you can _technically_ glamour a witch’s mark, but it only works on regular mortals. I mean, think about it, if a witch hunter is looking for witch’s marks, then a glamour isn’t going to do shit,” His words trail off, and concern grows on his face. “Why?”

“We…” Bokuto looks around, and leans in. “We have a bit of a witch hunter problem, but it’s nothing we can’t deal with on our own, so don’t you dare tell anyone else.”

“My lips are sealed,” Konoha makes a motion to zip his lips and flick away an imaginary key, which somehow makes a clattering sound after he flicks the air.

“Why won’t it work?” Akaashi blurts out.

“Ah,” Bokuto turns to Akaashi. “Glamour spells only hide things in plain sight. Like our big cauldron. If you don’t know that there’s a cauldron there, you’ll never notice it’s just a cauldron with a block of wood on it. If you know, then it’s obvious.”

Akaashi’s eye twitches.

“So,” Bokuto tries again. “If we glamoured our marks, anyone would just see a random tattoo and think nothing of it, but people who know what to look for will see them for what they are. It’s… practically useless.”

Konoha hums, and taps his chin.

“I may have come across a strong glamour potion at some point, but I’ll have to find it,” He swishes his lips and shakes his head. “Yeah, I’ll just text you when I find it. Can’t think of it off the top of my head. And speaking of potions,” His face darkens. “How is that elixir of life coming along?”

“It just has to brew for a few more days!” Bokuto perks up and puffs his chest out. “It’s almost clear, just a little cloudy, still.”

“Dude!” Konoha raises his hand up, and Bokuto high fives him. “That’s awesome! I never would have pegged you as a potion kind of guy.”

“I’m not! I totally suck!” Bokuto smiles at Akaashi. “But I think using Akaashi’s blood really helped.”

“A-rank,” Konoha scoffs. “It’s so much more effective,” He looks at his own potion with sheer disappointment. “I’m using C-rank for this potion, and don’t get me wrong, it works, but it’s just not the same. I would use better ingredients but I’m absolute shit at summoning.”

“I could help!” Bokuto offers, and Akaashi can’t help but glare in his direction. “The highest I’ve ever summoned on purpose is B-rank, but I managed to snag this one,” He hikes a thumb at Akaashi. “So I’d say I’m pretty good at it.”

Akaashi frowns at the thought of Bokuto summoning another demon. He only knows fellow A-ranks like Daishou and the Miya kitsune spirits, and the S-ranks pay him no attention, since they can’t see him, anyways. 

Daishou would certainly eat Bokuto without a second thought, and the Miya twins would find a way to bind themselves to such a powerful summoner for their own control, and both outcomes sound like a bad deal.

But he’s not any better. He wanted to use Bokuto the night they met. He was fully prepared to consume everything that was Bokuto, to snuff out that bright smile and those warm eyes. His stomach lurches, and Akaashi puts a hand above his belly button, his tail curling around his waist. 

He’s just a demon that can’t control his hunger, and Bokuto could easily become a meal. He’d probably enjoy it in the moment, just like he did with Kobayashi. 

His stomach lurches again, and he bites his lower lip, tuning out Bokuto and Konoha as they start discussing some crime tv show. He’s so dumbly passionate about everything, so naive, and if he wasn’t immune to seduction magic, he’d certainly have been gone by now, all because he wanted to help his friend become a full witch.

Akaashi’s no stranger to being summoned, or getting his fill of his side of the bargain. He’s never hesitated to kill a witch before, because he’s a demon, it’s what his line of demon _does._ Walk around chaos, keep up appearances with the other demons, answer the summoning call when he’s hungry, work for a witch, feed, and go back to chaos. 

That’s just the way things are, and he’s never faltered in his duties before.

And Akaashi has snapped before, for much, _much_ less. There’s that time he ended the contract early because the witch got a little too handsy with him, or the time he half-assed a job because he was just too damn hungry, and who could forget the time he was just so full of spite towards a handler that he straight up rejected the contract outright, walking backwards into the portal without so much as a goodbye.

And sometimes Bokuto makes dumb decisions, or maybe he’s a little ignorant to the concept of personal space, not to mention he’s impulsive, and yes, he gets on Akaashi’s nerves half of the time. Sure, Akaashi’s thought about eating him, just as a passing thought when he’s a little too loud or a little too childish.

But he’s Bokuto. 

And this one…

This one he wants to keep.


	13. судно

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got 1k hits when I wasn't looking, so thank you all!! <3
> 
> Chapter Song: судно (Sudno) by Molchat Doma

Suga leaves Akaashi and Bokuto at the sign-in desk, returns the forsaken dream book after waiting in line for _way_ too long, internally groaning at the woman trying to argue that her book isn’t thirty years overdue. Maybe if he learns how to curse…

No. Bad. No curses.

Not on other witches, at least.

He returns the book and heads into the main room, grimoire floating at his side as he quickly finds a familiar streak of orange among the deep purples and charcoal blacks. To his right, Bokuto and Akaashi are already talking to Konoha, and he makes a beeline for Hinata.

“You really do basically live here, don’t you?” He says as he approaches, grabbing his grimoire out of the air.

His voice startles Hinata, but his smile widens when he meets Suga’s eyes. 

“Sugawara!” He greets. “How lucky, I was just about to go tutor the kids!”

Suga raises an eyebrow. Lucky?

“Am I keeping you from something? Don’t let me-”

“No! Not at all!” Hinata’s eyes go wide, and he waves his hands out in front of him. “I meant, lucky as in that you’re right on time to-”

“Hey, dumbass,” A new figure emerges from the shelves and karate chops Hinata’s head with an audible thump, which causes Suga to internally cringe. “The kids are waiting for you, ya know.”

“Ow,” Hinata nonchalantly massages the spot the man hit. “Why are you so violent, you ass?”

Hinata gestures towards the man, hand still nursing his head, but with his reaction, Suga wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this was a repeat offense.

“Kageyama, this is Koushi Sugawara. Sugawara, this is Tobio Kageyama, one of my future family members,” He jabs his fingers into Kageyama’s side, and Kageyama recoils in pure pain. “That’s what you get.”

Hinata shakes off the pain, and looks back at Suga, hands on his hips.

“You know, the kids I tutor still haven’t shut up about you,” He smiles fondly. “They’ve gotten really excited about the basics of voodoo and potion-making, though. If you’d like to drop in for a second...” Hinata scans over Suga’s face for any kind of response. “I mean, if you want to.”

Suga’s heart clenches, and he turns around and looks at Akaashi and Bokuto, Akaashi’s tail curling around him as Bokuto and Konoha passionately (and loudly) start discussing their favorite Criminal Minds characters, both of them gushing over Garcia. As they should. And knowing about the rant Bokuto is about to go on, the library trip might take longer than he thought.

“Uh, yeah, I can spare a few minutes,” Suga nods, and Hinata practically launches into the air.

“Great!” He excitedly shakes his fists, eyes sparkling. “They’re going to love you! Especially more than Kageyama.”

“Hey!” Kageyama protests, but his posture relaxes. “I’m just not good at communicating with children. How am I supposed to know what they’re thinking?”

“Treat them like tiny drunk adults,” Hinata blinks as if it’s obvious.

Kageyama just hikes an eyebrow up in confusion. Hinata rolls his eyes, and leads Suga to the back corner they had first met in, a small table with four middle-school age kids sitting with makeshift grimoires. Kageyama takes a seat in one of the empty chairs, and Hinata pulls up an extra chair, making room for Suga.

“Hello, young witches,” Hinata greets, taking a seat and opening his own makeshift grimoire. “Today is super duper special, everyone!” He motions to Suga and Kageyama. “You’ve met Kageyama before, but this is Koushi Sugawara!” Everyone gasps at that, and Suga suddenly has four pairs of amazed eyes on him. “Sugawara, this is Yuu, his older brother Hiroki, Taku, and Riku!” 

Suga makes a mental note of their names, sure that they’ll probably be forgotten within the next ten minutes, and puts his grimoire down on the table, which causes all of them to gasp even more. Hinata just chuckles, and turns to Suga.

“Usually I tutor with Ikkei Ukai, and _technically_ these are his students, but Ukai is a little busy these days-”

“Yeah, his grandson just took over as Dark One for D.C., right?” Suga wracks his brain for anything he can remember attached to the name, the only mention coming in conjunction with one of his dad’s texts. He might have slept with his dad at some point, but that’s not important.

Hinata nods. “He’s been busy helping him settle in, so I took over for a bit. I don’t even have my own grimoire or anything,” He laughs, showing off his own half-stapled booklet, the word “grimoire” written in neon block letters. “But I’ve read as many books as I can to learn what I can before I inherit the family grimoire.”

“That’s really awesome, Hinata,” Suga smiles, opening his own grimoire, the four boys leaning in to look at it, frowning in disappointment when the pages appear blank. “I wish I was able to learn spells before I inherited this thing.”

“What do you mean?” Hinata’s smile falters, and Kageyama cranes his neck over Suga’s shoulder to look at his grimoire.

“I’m about as skilled as a mortal-born,” Suga lightly chuckles. “Actually, I have two mortal-borns in my family and they’re way better than I am.”

“But you killed that witch hunter!” One of the kids, (Yuu? Shit, he’s already forgotten), exclaims. “You’re so cool!”

Suga stares at the kid, taken aback. They all seem to share the same look of wonder and amazement, all because he killed a witch hunter. Who knew actual _murder_ would be popular with the kids? They start to speak over each other, nearly jumping across the table to get in Suga’s face.

“I wanna hear the story about how you killed him!”

“Mr. Hinata uses too many sound effects.”

“Did you really use a death spell?”

Suga smiles sadly as he closes his grimoire, and Hinata turns to the kids, eyes narrowed. The boys all sink in their chairs at the mere inkling of getting scolded.

“I don’t think we should pressure him-”

“I wasn’t ready for it,” Suga interrupts. “It’s really important to study spells so that you’re good at them. Otherwise, I would have died.”

The boys “ooo”, and Hinata sits back in his chair, Kageyama leaning in next to him, watching with the same childlike fascination.

“It’s not too cool, I’m not as awesome as Hinata probably makes me out to be,” Suga scans over the boys’ faces, their wonder growing. “A little bit of body magic and a _really_ bad magic fever did it though,” He whispers, like it’s the biggest secret in the world, and the boys all gawk. “I just got sick, isn’t that totally lame?” The boys agree, and Suga offers a small smile. “But, the really, _really_ cool thing is that I had a demon with me, and he helped me a lot, so be sure to treat demons with respect, because you never know when you might need one.”

The boys scatter for the pens on the table to make note of that in their grimoires, and Suga sits back in his seat, turning his head to look at Hinata. Hinata looks impressed, and nods in praise.

“So,” Suga grabs one of the free pens and clicks it. “What are they learning today? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind one more student, yeah?”

Hinata’s smile grows, and he ropes Kageyama into showing the kids, and Suga, by extent, how to do simple curses. 

As it turns out, Kageyama is a natural when it comes to curses, and he’s under The Dark Ones’ radar for being one of The Faction of Night’s official curse experts. Hinata is a monster, too, in his own way. His inherent magic powers fall within magic manipulation, which has the power to amplify Kageyama’s curses tenfold. 

It’s terrifying, really, to know that people like this exist out there. To know that he could have been this good at magic his entire life, but was forced into studying magical politics instead. And now, his dear ol’ dad wants him to choose one of the _Darker_ paths, the act akin to tossing a child into the deep end with a pair of crocs on.

Could he ever be as good at curses as Kageyama? Or spell-casting like Kuroo? Kuroo is one of the best spellcasters in the region, after all, so that’s probably a lost cause. Oikawa is a very skilled conjuror, and Bokuto managed to _accidentally_ summon one of the most powerful and dangerous demon lineages in recorded witch history.

He can barely make a low-level poison and antidote, so his dreams of becoming a potions master like Konoha are a bust. He can probably go into voodoo, since he has the experience, but what would he do with it? Kill another old man?

The lesson passes quickly, and soon, it’s just him, Hinata, and Kageyama left at the table, Suga slowly flipping through his family’s grimoire as Hinata and Kageyama argue about something he can’t even comprehend.

“So, your mom, like, did chaos magic, right?” Kageyama suddenly asks, and Suga freezes.

He can practically feel a bead of sweat drip down his brow, and his grip tightens on the page he’s holding. Sorry, however many greats-uncle Jun, this page is crumpled now. Your instructions for soul projection are now very, very wrinkled. Time stills, and it takes a second of Hinata hitting Kageyama’s head for Suga to realize time didn’t actually stop.

“You can’t just! Kageyama!” He sputters.

“What!” Kageyama deadpans. “I’m curious.”

“That’s!” Hinata lets out a frustrated groan. “How dense are you?”

Suga smooths out the page to the best of his ability. “She did.”

He flips the page, the black page reading for a spell about how to temporarily change your gender. Must be a glamour spell that he won’t be good at, either. He sighs, and flips the page again.

“Seems to be a theme,” Suga’s frown deepens as he moves into the more recent pages, the start of his dad’s section slowly starting to creep closer. “I mean, one of my ancestors tried to summon an S-rank demon and was killed on the spot, another one got caught trying to unlock the secrets to reincarnation and was killed on the spot, and I’m pretty sure my mom wasn’t the first to be executed for chaos magic,” Suga lets out a deeper sigh, closing the grimoire entirely. “Killed on the spot.”

He’s not usually the one to be so “woe is me”, but there’s something about today that makes him want to rip all his hair out and share every piece of childhood trauma he can muster up. Apparently, his tired brain wants to share the very few pieces of information on his family he’s managed to dig up, minus the spells written by the executed. He only knew that such people existed because of the warnings their names were attached to, to be used as examples of what not to do. Either that, or they were still listed on the family tree in his dad’s old collection of Sugawara history.

“I’m sorry,” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m not usually such a downer. I think I’m just tired, I’ve been having nightmares where I kill my boyfriend.”

He freezes. Oh, so that’s what his dream had been about. Silver knife, mirror-self, salt “circle”. Right. He remembers now. Not an excuse to overshare it, though. And is Daichi actually his boyfriend? Did they ever actually put a label on it?

Great, another thing to worry about.

He feels a hand press on his shoulder, and he peeks out from behind his palms to Kageyama, who’s trying his best to comfort him. Kageyama lightly pats, like one would pet a cat, and smiles, the act unintentionally sinister. Suga blows air out of his nose, and leans over on the table, resting his head against his arms.

“Thanks, Kageyama,” He mumbles into his arms, and turns his head to look at him again. Yep, that smile is… something else. “Hey, you haven’t given any thought to the ways you’ll balance out the earth when you convert, have you?”

“Not really,” Kageyama answers immediately, going back to his resting bitch face. “I guess there’s a few curses I could use, though. There’s one that gives people mild bad luck for a few weeks. Losing a sock, always misplacing your phone or car keys, wearing white on the day you start your period.”

Suga’s face scrunches up at that one.

“Okay, that last one is just plain evil, don’t ever do that to someone,” He turns his head to Hinata, his cheek flat against his forearm. “How about you?”

“Hm,” Hinata hums. “I don’t know, what do you normally do?”

“Well, I killed someone,” Suga mumbles against his arm. “But my plan was to do small acts of mischief like my family. Kuroo enchants his soap to get in your eyes, Oikawa enchants coffee to always spill a little on you, Bokuto… has a demon? I don’t know, I think he brings misfortune on people without even using magic.”

Hinata laughs.

“Sounds like Bokuto,” He agrees. “But I guess I would just back up my family’s magic, make it stronger so the effects last longer.”

“Yeah…” Suga looks ahead, and taps the table. 

Magic manipulation. How interesting, how cool it would be to be able to manipulate the magic around him. Strengthen Kuroo’s spells, weaken Bokuto’s. He could probably nullify Oikawa’s bullshit completely. Wait. 

Suga sits upright so fast Kageyama almost falls out of his chair.

“Wait, Hinata, can you nullify magic?”

Hinata’s eyes dart back and forth a little, then meet Suga’s.

“Uh, yeah, but it’s the hardest form of magic manipulation. I can’t even do it with my current power.”

Suga’s hands start to twitch as he grabs at the air. Might as well ask, he has nothing to lose.

“Do you think you could teach me how to nullify a tracking spell set up by an underage witch?”

Hinata blinks, his face creasing with concern.

“Yeah, if it was an underage witch, it should be lower grade and easier to dispel, why?”

Suga’s mouth dries at the memory of Bokuto saying Hinata was a bit of a gossip, and he scrambles for an answer. He sighs in defeat, and presses his forehead against the table.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I think killing a witch hunter brought more witch hunters.”

“Oh,” Hinata leans on the table. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound fun. Do you need backup, cause I know lots of people that would love to-”

“No!” Suga says a little too loudly, already regretting telling Hinata. “No, we can handle it. It’s not a problem at all.”

“You sure? Witch hunters sound pretty serious.”

Suga sucks in a breath.

“I’ve dealt with them before, I can handle it again if I need to.”

Hinata slowly nods, muttering a spell under his breath, and a book flies into his open hand. He flips through a few pages until he gets to the right one, and passes it to Suga. It has a few simple spells, a few intermediate ones, and one advanced looking one, but he probably won’t need it.

“Thank you, Hinata, you’re a great help,” Suga fumbles for one of the pens the boys left behind, and copies all of the spells into his own section of the grimoire, the pages of which have started to turn a very pale lavender. “Any tips for success?”

“Use a channeling medium when you start out. Quartz would work well, but you could also use a moonstone, which might work better.”

“Moonstone, got it,” Suga adds it to the grimoire, and makes sure he’s spelled everything right and written out the correct pronunciations. “Anything else?”

Hinata looks over the spells.

“Most of these are low-level and are either short range or only work for a limited time. It may take a few tries to get the effect you want, even if you do it correctly,” Hinata looks over the spells again to confirm. “And it’s not a protection spell, and it doesn’t hide magic. It just nullifies a specific spell, which you need to specify when you perform it. It won’t work if you don’t know the source spell.”

“Well it’s a good thing I know the original caster,” Suga nods, closing his grimoire for what feels like the hundredth time. Speaking of time, “I gotta go meet up with Bokuto and Akaashi, but I learned a lot. Thank you, both of you,” He thanks the pair, and stands up, his legs begging to be stretched.

He only hears the shock in Hinata’s voice as he gets further and further out of earshot.

“Bokuto has a freaking _Akaashi_ demon?”

He makes his way back to the potion testing section, where Konoha is packing up his materials, Bokuto and Akaashi waiting for him among a group of people that seem way too interested in Akaashi.

Bokuto spies him, and you can see the wave of relief that hits Akaashi as they push their way out of the crowd.

“Hey, find anything interesting?” Bokuto pushes them away from the crowd. “Cause we just have a recipe for nightmare powder that may or may not make all of us go insane.”

“What?” Suga croaks, the crowd following them, trying to get a good glimpse at Akaashi, a lot of them murmuring their regrets that they’ll miss Bokuto’s bright presence when he’s gone.

“It’s… uh,” Bokuto throws a handful of silver powder into the cauldron. “It’s complicated, and I’m starting to get worried Akaashi is going to snap and eat someone.”

“Not my fault if I do, they’re so annoying,” Akaashi seethes from behind them, his mere words creating an aura that makes Suga shiver. “The next person that asks me for my given name is getting their head bitten off.”

It’s not an empty threat, and Suga and Bokuto are the only ones that know the weight behind his words. Suga steps aside, and lets Akaashi go first, just to be safe. The last thing he needs is Akaashi going on a hunger rampage, because Bokuto would be held responsible.

Oh, and that someone would die. That… really should have been his first thought, but no one has to know.

He chucks his grimoire through the portal and hoists himself out of the cauldron, crawling onto the floor like the girl from the ring, except covered head to toe in silver sparkles.

“Oh?” Akaashi asks, shaking the almost-tinsel off of his arms as he looks at Kuroo and Kenma on the couch, Kenma quickly climbing off of Kuroo’s lap, his lips kissed pink, face starting to match. He sinks into his hoodie, Kuroo fixing his shirt, which is pulled up ever so slightly. “Well that’s an interesting sight. Is holding down the fort what the kids are calling it these days?”

“You weren’t supposed to be back so soon,” Kuroo wheezes, wiping a stray strand of saliva off of his mouth, fixing his shirt back into place. “Dammit,” Kenma gets up and promptly exits the room, Kuroo staggering to his feet to chase after him. “Wait, Kenma-”

“Careful, Kuroo,” Bokuto teases as he pokes his head out of the portal, looking like a groundhog that just got back from a pride parade. Kuroo leans in the doorway with a loud groan as Kenma makes his way upstairs. “Don’t want him to go through a cleansing right before his birthday, do you?”

Kuroo gives Bokuto a look that makes Bokuto’s mouth immediately shut, his eyes flickering red as he drags his hand down his face. He groans again, and looks around the room as if to say “thanks for everything”, but there’s more regret behind his eyes than anything else.

“Dammit,” Kuroo says, the word muffled by his hand, making motions to follow Kenma upstairs. “I screwed up.”

Suga exchanges glances with Akaashi and Bokuto.

“Okay, new bet,” Bokuto pats his pockets for his phone. “Ten bucks in for what pissed Kenma off.”

-

After Suga, Bokuto, and Akaashi slip through the golden haze of the cauldron, the light dissipating with but a small shimmer lingering in the room, Kuroo makes Kenma a cup of tea, moving to the couch to watch yet another episode of Jeopardy.

“God, I love Alex Trebek,” Kuroo muses, languidly sipping from his own mug that Bokuto had gotten him for his birthday. It has a periodic table with the addition of “AH!”, the element of surprise. “I really really love Alex Trebek.”

Kenma quietly snorts, and moves to drink his own tea, stirring in the three full spoonfuls of sugar he added. Kuroo’s nose crinkles up at the sight, and he returns his attention to the tv.

“You’re like Akaashi, drinking all that sugar.”

“It’s not like it’ll kill me,” Kenma takes a long sip. “Yet. It’s like drinking that sweet tea Bokuto made. I don’t really get it, but he seems to like it.”

“I forget he’s from the south,” Kuroo admits, skipping through the ads to final jeopardy. “He doesn’t act like it. I don’t know, I always expected people from the south to speak like they do at those civil war sites. I think the only time Bokuto’s ever said ‘y’all’ was when he was really upset.”

Kenma smiles into his cup. “How angry do you think I need to get him to get him to say it?”

“Just wait for him to call his sisters, it’s hilarious.”

“Noted.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, putting on another game show after Kenma scowls at the fact he got the final jeopardy question wrong and Kuroo got it right. (Who is Eleanor Roosevelt, and history has never been Kenma’s strong suit to begin with.) 

It reminds Kuroo of his summers as a kid, watching game shows in the morning with his sister before going over to Kenma’s house to play volleyball or whatever video game Kenma was interested in that week. It was always Resident Evil, or some other survival horror game. Unless it was Cooking Mama, which Kenma was scarily good at, if such a game could ever be _scary._

It feels like old times, but Kuroo knows better than to reminisce on the past.

Kenma will be Light, and he’s always been Dark.

“You’re frowning, Kuro,” Kenma points out, not even looking to the side.

“Yeah, well,” Kuroo sips on his tea, the weather way too hot for it, but he loves it too much. There’s really nothing better than chrysanthemum tea you make yourself. “I was thinking about everyone’s stupid bet on us,” He lies.

“Should we tell them we know about it?”

“I would have put money on it if Akaashi didn’t already have it correct,” He clicks his tongue. “I could use that money, to be honest.”

“Why?” Kenma side eyes him.

“Making soap isn’t exactly the lucrative business you think it is,” Kenma scoffs at that. “But it has its moments.”

Kenma looks down in his cup, thoughts moving behind his eyes faster than Kuroo can read.

“Did you start selling it because I told you to?” 

“Hm?”

“All those years ago, I said you should start selling them. Is that why you started your business?”

_Yes._

“I don’t really remember,” Kuroo breathes. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kenma drinks more tea. Kuroo knows that Kenma would be able to see through any lie he told. He knows Kenma better than he knows himself, but it goes both ways. 

It’s quiet again, but it’s not weird. It’s comfortable, the kind that only exists between people that truly understand each other. The kind that fills summer night car rides and relaxed movie nights. The kind of silence that Kuroo doesn’t mind living in, especially in a house full of witches.

Oh, how he hates to break it.

“I’m really sorry that I never went to visit,” Kuroo bites the bullet. “I wanted to. Really, I did, but I knew your parents hated me towards the end, and all of my texts to you would get sent back, and I was worried you did, too.”

“What do you mean?” Kenma furrows his brow. “What texts?”

Kuroo blinks, Kenma’s eyes clouded in confusion.

“I tried messaging you for a few months after you left, but they never got delivered. I thought…” He trails off as realization crosses Kenma’s face.

“My parents…” Kenma closes his eyes, and slowly inhales. “I thought you hated me for moving.”

“I thought you hated me for being Dark.”

“I don’t hate you for being Dark, Kuro,” Kenma turns to him. “Maybe at first, when we were kids, yes, but it’s a part of you. I can’t change that.”

Kuroo nods, and finishes his drink, setting the empty mug aside since he can’t use the coffee table. When he sits back in his seat, Kenma curls up into him, and Kuroo takes a moment, or two, or three, to appreciate how different it feels to just a few weeks ago. He’s warmer than he had been, still borrowing Kuroo’s hoodies, the sleeves way too long and the hem so low it almost covers the end of his shorts.

Yeah, this is a good sight. 

And he has only a few more months to cherish it.

“You’re frowning again,” Kenma huffs. “You’re going to age yourself with all your overthinking.”

“I know,” Kuroo sighs. “All my beauty, gone to waste.”

“What beauty? Your hair isn’t doing so much for you in that department.”

“You wound me, Kenma.”

More silence. An anxious leg bouncing up and down. Another mindless game show, Kenma still against him, gradually moving closer.

“So, you’re really going to be Light?”

“I am,” Kenma fills the silence. “There’s already a branch family set aside for me. People around our age, the family head is a little scary, but everyone else seems… tolerable. My parents wanted it, so ‘mma honor that,” He presses closer into Kuroo, eyes flickering. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still…”

Kenma starts to turn a little pink, and Kuroo can’t help but break a smile. He missed this Kenma, the one that only he got to see. The one that gets embarrassed with affection but wholly craves it.

People always assumed Kenma was unexpressive, cold, maybe even rude. But he’s so much more than an empty shell. Kuroo knows it, and hopefully Kenma knows it, too. He’s nothing more than an introvert, and he deserves more than the label of heartless.

Kenma presses against him again, and Kuroo holds in the noise that tries to escape his throat. Gods, the things he would give for Kenma to have signed his name already.

“Do you… want to possibly-”

“Yeah,” Kenma looks up at him, hand on his thigh, lightly squeezing. “Whatever it is, yes.”

That’s all he needs.

“I’m not letting you get away again,” Kuroo wraps his hands around Kenma’s frame, pulling him upright. Kenma twists around and locks his arms around Kuroo’s neck, legs on either side of his waist. 

Shit, he missed this. Missed Kenma’s lips, missed running his fingers through Kenma’s hair, missed the way Kenma puts his guard down when they’re alone like this. Their lips graze each other, and he grins against Kenma’s skin, meeting his eyes.

“Just because I’ll be Light doesn’t mean we can’t still do this,” Kenma murmurs against his lips, taking them for a quick peck.

“Of course,” Kuroo hums. “We’re both witches, after all.”

“Balance,” Kenma adds, eagerly grabbing the sides of Kuroo’s face and fitting himself between Kuroo’s lips.

Kenma’s lips are rough, but Kuroo’s not exactly the best at his own lip care. Maybe he should actually listen to Oikawa and Suga when they talk about their skincare routine, even Bokuto having started to do face masks with Akaashi. But no, don’t think about them right now. Right now is all about-

Kenma nibbles Kuroo’s bottom lip, trying to take charge in the only way he knows how, and Kuroo chuckles, running his tongue across Kenma’s teeth, tasting the sugar from his tea. It’s sweet, of course, but then again, maybe that’s just how Kenma tastes after all these years.

Kenma’s hands find the hem of his shirt, and pull up, hands resting against his stomach, traveling up to his chest, ending on his pecs, Kenma mumbling something about how it isn’t fair he can be so skinny and yet so muscular. His shirt slips down past his collarbone, and Kenma stops, zoning in Kuroo’s witch’s mark. He runs his finger over it, curious, and then drops his hand back to Kuroo’s chest.

“Like what you see?” Kuroo teases, Kenma’s eyes flickering upwards to meet Kuroo’s, and Kuroo just about melts right then and there. “I bet you’d look really good with a witch’s mark, Kenma,” He pokes Kenma’s collarbone with his thumb, the words slipping out of him. “The black would look great.”

“A Dark one?” Kenma pulls back, and Kuroo hums in question.

Shit.

“Any one,” He clarifies, realizing what he had said. That’s right, Light witches get gold marks. “Gold suits you, too.”

“Hopefully it suits me more than black,” Kenma pulls back a little more, his eye twitching a little. 

_Shit._

“Of course it will, Kenma, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kenma opens his mouth to speak, but silver flames fill the space in front of them, Akaashi crawling out in one fluid motion, his eyes immediately locking with Kuroo’s.

Shit, what time is it?

A lone grimoire follows, and Sug’s body contorts as he enters, the silver sparkles from the portal matching his hair perfectly.

“Oh?” Akaashi asks, shaking his arms, Kenma quickly moving to climb off of Kuroo. “Well that’s an interesting sight. Is holding down the fort what the kids are calling it these days?”

Kuroo looks at Kenma, who avoids his gaze, fists clenched, knuckles white.

“You weren’t supposed to be back so soon,” He goes breathless, wiping a stray strand of saliva off of his mouth, fixing his shirt back into place. What awful timing, and he’s fucked up by saying Kenma would look better with a Dark witch’s mark. “Dammit,” Kenma gets up and promptly exits the room, Kuroo clambering off of the couch to chase after him. “Wait, Kenma-”

He really fucked up this time. Kenma must be angry, if he’s leaving like this. And right after he said he would accept Kenma no matter what side he chose. He’s such an idiot. Who the hell let him ever open his mouth?

“Careful, Kuroo,” Bokuto teases as he pokes out of the cauldron, Kuroo leaning in the doorway with a loud groan as Kenma makes his way upstairs. “Don’t want him to go through a cleansing right before his birthday, do you?”

Kuroo stares Bokuto down, feeling some of the built-up magic strain his eyes as Bokuto pales, firmly closing his mouth. He puts his palm to his face and groans again, looking around the room at everyone’s faces. 

If only they hadn’t walked in before he could explain.

If only he wasn’t an idiot and said that to Kenma.

“Dammit,” Kuroo says, the word muffled by his hand, making motions to follow Kenma upstairs. “I screwed up.”

He opens the door to Kenma’s room, Kenma sitting on the edge of the bed, taking the hoodie off and fanning himself.

“Kenma,” Kuroo’s heart sinks. “I’m so sorry I said that-”

“Did they say anything about us making out?” Kenma interrupts him, cheeks reddening.

“What? Not really,” Kuroo dismisses. “I didn’t mean to say that you would look better with a Dark pentagram, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” Kenma tucks his hair behind his ears. “I know that, but I… I didn’t want them to see me like that.”

Kuroo falters, and Kenma buries his face in his hands, his sigh obscured by his fingers as he runs a hand through his hair, leaning back on the bed. His cheeks are still red, and he presses a few fingers to his lips, smiling a bit to himself.

“So it… wasn’t me stupidly saying you’d look better with a black mark instead of gold?”

“Well, that’s still kind of annoying, but no,” Kenma lays on his side. “I just… if we’re going to do stuff like that, can it be in here?”

“You want to…” Kuroo’s eyes scan around the bedroom.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, rooster head,” Kenma pats the bed next to him, and Kuroo climbs in, Kenma resting his head on Kuroo’s chest. “We can wait for October.”

Kuroo looks down at Kenma, who doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“I didn’t really mind,” Kenma closes his eyes, getting comfortable. “The mark thing. I mean, after you said that your coven only does dumb things, my fears kind of…” He gestures upwards. “I don’t mind what you’ve been doing all these years, I mean. I don’t hate the idea, of being Dark.”

“But?”

“But it’s between choosing you, which I can still do as a Light witch, or choosing to honor my family. If we met again under any other circumstances-”

“You’d consider it?” Kuroo surmises.

Kenma snuggles closer to Kuroo, his heart thumping lightly against Kuroo’s lower ribcage. He’s softer now, his muscles holding infinitely less tension than they had been. 

“Yeah,” He yawns. “Yeah, I might have.”

Kenma slowly starts to drift off in Kuroo’s arms, and Kuroo finds himself slipping, too.

-

Oikawa and Iwaizumi sit in the bedroom of their rental house, watching some horror film from the ‘90s. It’s not a very good movie, the CGI is horrible, the acting is abysmal, and their budget seems to have been a shoelace and some spare change the production company pulled out of their pockets in the pitch meeting.

“I love this movie,” Oikawa declares, eyes sparkling as someone’s head gets chopped off, a mannequin head in a poorly glued wig getting kicked across the screen.

“I can’t believe you watch this trash,” Iwaizumi scoffs as the Wilhelm scream fills the room. Oikawa pokes his cheek, and Iwaizumi’s face splits into a smile. “Okay, fine, it’s pretty funny.”

“I should show you the movie Rubber,” Oikawa says, idly scratching Iwaizumi’s scalp as someone’s body starts spraying fake blood from an obvious tube under their clothes. “It’s about an angry tire.”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

Iwaizumi lets out a small laugh, sneaking a few glances before he leans down, pressing his lips against Oikawa’s forehead. 

“Oh?” Oikawa looks up with a satisfied smirk. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just… happy birthday, Tooru.”

“Pfft,” Oikawa sticks his tongue out, pushing Iwaizumi to the side, pulling back the covers. “I have to pee, don’t pause it, I know that the main character gets killed by a frisbee.”

“Hey, spoilers,” Iwaizumi pushes him off the bed, Oikawa laughing as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He finishes up, washes his hands, and scrubs in between his fingers as he looks up into the mirror. His hair is messed up, glasses low on his nose, his eyes tired. And blue.

Bright blue, the way they look when his inner witch comes out, one of the only outward signs that he’s anything but mortal, other than the pentagram on his chest. He sets his glasses on the counter and rubs his eyes, getting closer to inspect them.

He was mortal-born and mortal-raised, the witch gene being recessive and him somehow picking it up from a long line of mortals. A twist of fate, one that granted him great powers and near-immortality, his parents having no clue that there was any history of witchcraft in either of their families until a man, who Oikawa now knows is Suga’s father, sent him an email before his twenty-first birthday asking him to meet.

He would have sent it straight to spam, thinking it was some kind of weird sex cult, (which the Festival of Spring sometimes makes him think it is), but he had had too many weird experiences in his life that were too similar to what the witch had stated in his email that Oikawa had given it a second (and third, and fourth) thought, and agreed to meet.

The first question Daisuke Sugawara asked made him immediately question his decision, bringing back thoughts of it being a sex cult, and his answer made Daisuke immediately start making plans for his purity ritual. He was then told all about his family history, how his dad’s side of the family had slowly become more and more mortal over the past few centuries after one witch thrown in the mix, with a few of his distant cousins also popping up as witches among the mortal-born, and his mom’s side of the family had their grimoire destroyed, his great-grandmother excommunicated and stripped of her powers early into her witch life, left to raise her mortal children with her mortal husband as a mortal herself. 

Suddenly, all the years of things randomly exploding near him when he was angry, hopeful wishes for presents that randomly appeared in his hands, and, with Daisuke’s help, a flame erupting from his palm during their meeting, made sense.

He was, is, and always will be, a witch.

But he still can’t get used to the glowing blue eyes, or the reality that his family will age without him, his nephew growing up faster than he ever will, and that he’s stuck with Kuroo, Bokuto, and Suga for the next three centuries. Well, maybe not Bokuto, if Akaashi has cravings. But definitely at least Suga.

And Iwa. What’s he going to do with Iwa?

He frowns at his reflection, slips his glasses back on, turns around out of the bathroom with a shake of his wet hands, and returns to Iwaizumi on the bed. He only gives Oikawa one small look before he nearly jerks so hard he falls off with the mere sight of him.

“What the fuck,” Iwaizumi stares, wide-eyed as his eyes land on Oikawa.

“Witch eyes,” Oikawa sighs, motioning to his face and crawling into the bed. “They’ll go away at some point.”

“You…” Iwaizumi starts, peering up from the edge of the bed, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t human, are you?”

Oikawa stares, more out of shock than anything. He clears his throat, tilting his head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“You look so…” Iwaizumi scans over his face, then scowls. “You’re not Tooru. Tooru doesn’t look like this.”

Oikawa leans forward, brow furrowed so hard it’s almost painful, and Iwaizumi flinches at the sudden movement. 

“Iwa, what are you-”

“You’re not him,” Iwaizumi stands up, putting his hands over his mouth. “Where is he?”

“What do you mean?” Oikawa raspily asks. “I’m right here, they’re just blue eyes, Iwa-chan.”

“Tooru doesn’t…” He stops himself short, shaking his head, jaw clenching. “You’re not him, so who the fuck are you?”

“Iwa, what the fuck are you on?” Oikawa starts, and he would continue, but something clicks behind Iwaizumi’s eyes, and he lunges.

He grabs Oikawa, Oikawa yelping, staring up at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. Iwaizumi’s grip is tight, like it might break his wrist if it was any harder, and will definitely bruise. Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s eyes, which have darkened dangerously, his jaw clenched as he grits his teeth, pressing Oikawa to the bed.

“Where is he?” He demands again, and Oikawa chokes out a dry sob.

“What are you,” Oikawa chokes as the hand wraps around his neck. “I-wa-”

“Shut up!” Iwaizumi yells, and Oikawa swings his hand out, reaching for something, anything, Iwaizumi’s fingers digging into his neck.

“Hu-rting me,” He squawks. “Iw-a-”

The grip tightens even more, his head heavy, and he can feel his eyes start to bulge. Iwaizumi’s always been strong, muscular, bigger where Oikawa had height. Never did he think such strength would be used like this, but this…

This isn’t Iwa.

This _can’t_ be Iwa.

His pleas for help come out as strangled garbles, and his hand makes contact with something cold, something solid. He grabs it, the object hefty in his hand, and he hits it against Iwaizumi. The tight grip doesn’t release, but _warmth,_ god, a gross warmth joins in. Warmth, wet and thick and _heavy_ , spilling out over Oikawa’s face.

Warmth, and a rattling choke.

Blood, thick and red, drips in short waves from Iwaizumi’s mouth, the lamp light catching in the small point that pokes out from the other side of Iwaizumi’s neck. He chokes again, painting Oikawa’s face in a fresh splattering of crimson, and Oikawa removes his hand from the object, the handle of a silver knife sticking out of the other side of his neck.

Oikawa doesn’t know what to do. He lets out a low wail, pushing the body off of him, Iwaizumi’s body shuddering and convulsing on the bed, eyes still focused directly on Oikawa. He lets out a dry sob, and bolts upright.

The room is dark, the sheets sweaty and twisted around his body. In the mirror across the bed, he can see his eyes, glowing bright blue in the shadows of the night. He lets out another sob, and hands grab him.

“Let go!” He shouts, swatting the hands away as he tries to pull the covers off of him. “Get off me!”

“Tooru, hey, hey,” Iwaizumi sleepily counters. “Hey, you’re dreaming, hey, hey-”

“Let go of me, Hajime!” A small pulse of red bursts out of Oikawa’s chest, and Iwaizumi is thrown from the bed, landing on the floor with a heavy thunk and a pained groan.

Oikawa untangles himself from the sheets, his breathing heavy, gasping for breath through his sore throat, his chest strained and throat throbbing. He clutches his heart, and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. The warmth of the blood hits him, and his stomach lurches, ripping a gag from his mouth as he scrambles into the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet. 

Tears run down his cheeks, hot and wet, salty as they mix with his snotty nose. He stands up, dizzily, retches over the sink, hands reaching for the faucet. His hands find his shirt, but the only wetness is sweat, a few tear stains, his throat unbruised but covered in a sweaty sheen.

His eyes, though, his eyes are still bright blue. 

He clenches them shut, turning the water on and starts to splash whatever he can cup into his hands on his face, slurping everything else. Footsteps approach behind him, and Oikawa tenses.

“What the hell, Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks, sounding more worried than angry. “What happened? Nightmare?”

“Go back to bed,” Oikawa croaks and clenches his eyes shut, his hair plastered to his forehead and dripping. He tries to fix it, not daring open his eyes. He motions for Iwaizumi to close the door, and he coughs into his elbow. “Just, just don’t look at me.”

“Babe,” Iwaizumi starts, voice cutting through the air. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Oikawa leans over the sink. “Just,” He sighs, turning the tap back on. “Just go back to bed.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t let up.

“What was the nightmare about?” Iwaizumi wheezes a little, and Oikawa’s eyes snap open, deep brown. 

He sounds _hurt._

Oikawa turns around, and sure enough, Iwaizumi is massaging his chest, eyes watching his every move. There’s no blood, no knife, no anger. Just worry, worry for _him._

A nightmare. Just a nightmare. That wasn’t his Iwa. Not at all. Oikawa lets out a small whine, and pulls Iwaizumi into his arms, freely crying on his shoulder. Iwaizumi makes a small noise of discomfort, his breathing full of small whistles, but his arms wrap around Oikawa, hands trying to soothe him as the sobs go soundless. 

“Alright,” Iwaizumi’s hands reach his hair, his fingers running through the clumpy locks. “Wanna tell me what happened, or do you need another minute?”

Oikawa pulls away, looks at Iwaizumi, and lets out another whine, Iwaizumi nodding and hugging him tighter. He coughs at the contact, but still, he lets Oikawa sob on his shoulder, whispering small coos of reassurement, rubbing comfort into every inch of Oikawa’s skin that he can find.

“You okay?” He asks again, Oikawa stable enough to stand on his own, although he’s still trying to swallow his sobs, his throat raw, eyes red and puffy. Oikawa nods. “Okay, come on,” Iwaizumi leads Oikawa to the bed, sits next to him, and continues rubbing circles on his back. “Wanna talk about it?”

Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi, sniffles, and wipes his nose on his arm, a glob of snot smearing across his skin. 

“You hurt me,” Oikawa croaks.

“And I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi hangs his head. “You were thrashing around in your sleep and then freaked out-”

“No,” Oikawa vigorously shakes his head. “No, the dream. You…” Oikawa bites his lip. “You were on me, yelling, and I… I killed you.”

“I attacked you?” Iwaizumi rasps, eyes wide. “Well that explains the defense spell,” He rubs his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” Oikawa presses a palm to his mouth. “Fuck, does it hurt?”

“I think the landing hurt more than the blow,” Iwaizumi tries to smile, but winces. 

“Sit back,” Oikawa pushes his shoulder, and holds his hand out over Iwaizumi’s core, whispering the quickest healing spell he knows. “Better?”

“A little,” Iwaizumi pulls him down and into his chest. “Good enough to do this.”

He nuzzles into Oikawa’s hair, sputtering when a particularly sweaty strand finds its way into his mouth, “Gross. Sweatykawa.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa breathes a little easier. “You’re definitely the real one.”

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa sucks in a breath, laying back on the bed, the residual heat and sweat absolutely disgusting. “Yeah, yeah. I… It’s probably nothing.”

“Probably?” Iwaizumi turns on his side.

“Witch dreams,” Oikawa gestures, trying to find the words as he stares at the ceiling. “Not the best.”

“Sounds like it,” Iwaizumi frowns. They lay there, just for a moment, but it’s a moment Oikawa desperately needed, his nerves finally mellowing out. Iwaizumi prods the air with the beginning of a question, stops, and then speaks through a small exhale. “But how bad is ‘not the best’?”

Oikawa sighs, “Some of us have prophetic dreams. Not all of us, hail The Dark Ones for that. I really don’t even want to _think_ about that dream coming true. In the moment, though, it was…” He closes his eyes, squeezes them, and opens them again. “It was scary. Felt too real, until I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.”

Iwaizumi just hums in response, “You know I would never hurt you, right?”

“I know that,” Oikawa almost sobs, not expecting those words to have ever left Iwaizumi’s lips. “No, I know that.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi clasps their hands together. “Because I mean it. Always there to chase the nightmares away.”

“You’d be good at it, you brute,” Oikawa lets himself joke.

“Gotta let aggression out somehow.”

Another much needed moment passes, Iwaizumi’s thumb stroking Oikawa’s hand, Oikawa steading his breaths. Just a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. He’s not one that’s supposed to have them, since nightmares seem to be more in Suga’s territory lately. 

Wow, poor Suga. He’s probably killed Daichi multiple times in his dreams by now. Killed. When did that word become so normal? Was it when he became a full witch, when Suga got his task, something even more recent?

Is that what it means to be a witch?

“Iwa,” Oikawa licks his lips, his tongue doing nothing to help the building dryness, “You don’t care that I’m a witch, right?”

“I let you practice voodoo on me, remember?” Iwaizumi’s voice rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah, but,” Oikawa inhales. “I’m not… mortal. I’m…” His brow furrows, his voice starting to scrape against his throat. “I’m not like you. Not like my mom, or my dad, or my sister, or my nephew. Everyone is… what am I going to do, Iwa?”

“Cherish the moments you do have together,” Iwaizumi says flatly, the words barely above a whisper. “Time with me, time with them. I… don’t think it’s hit me yet, the full weight of what you mean. I’m trying to understand, and I think I do, just a little. And as annoying as you are,” Oikawa glares. “Don’t worry. I don’t see myself getting scared away by just a little witchcraft.”

Oikawa can feel him smiling, almost. If he could see Iwaizumi’s face, he’d hope that he’s smiling. 

“Good,” Oikawa nestles closer. “Because you’re going to have a very hard time getting rid of me.”

The rumble returns to Iwaizumi’s chest, and Oikawa finds himself laughing, too. This Iwaizumi would never attack him like that, would never look into his eyes and find fear. There’s no silver knife, no blood, and certainly no dead Iwaizumi next to him.

Just two idiots in love.

“You’re like a magic fungus,” Iwaizumi interrupts Oikawa’s silent gushing. “I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried.”

_“Hey.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka the 8k word chapter where I give you not one but TWO heart attacks, thinking your otp has been ruined. Keep this in mind and have a very lovely day :)


	14. We're In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, don't look at me, the alternative title for this is "Suga being a walking gay disaster".
> 
> Second of all, hey look, a new rating. 
> 
> Chapter Song: We're In Love by Badflower

“So,” Tendou smiles across the counter, eyes contently half-lidded as he looks at the two properly dressed men. “What’s in it for me if I tell you?”

The men look at each other, and the smaller blond breaks into a huge smile, “Well, let’s just say that there’s a lot to offer. Our employer will be able to compensate you.”

“Hm,” Tendou hums, eyes focused primarily on the bigger man. “What are ya, a cop?” He picks up one of the free samples, which are just rejects, and pops one into his mouth. “Sorry to say that the only slightly illegal thing about my bakery is our fire safety system.”

The blond’s eyes look like a system error, and he takes a small step closer to the fire extinguisher on the wall. The taller man reaches into his pocket, his movements so stiff yet fluid that Tendou can’t help but wonder what his real job is.

This is a dangerous man, and his partner is most likely the same way.

“Do you know anyone with the mark or not?” The taller man clenches his jaw, holding out the piece of paper for Tendou to take.

Tendou sighs and holds his hand out, half-looking at the paper, looking back to the man, then looking back at the paper. He tries not to furrow his brow, tries not to sit up straight, or react in any way.

He looks back at the men, and hands the paper with the most innocent smile he can muster up, a chill rippling through the air.

“Can’t say that I have, fellas,” The man takes the paper back, eyes locked on Tendou. “But I’m sure that if anyone did know something about your mysterious tattoos, it would be Tanaka at the diner.”

“So we’ve heard,” The blond smiles, eye twitching. “But thank you for your time.”

“Terushima,” The taller man looks at his watch, showing Terushima what it reads. “We are needed back at the office for a field report.”

Terushima presses his lips together, face paling like this was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear, and gives a shallow nod. The man gives Tendou another glance as they leave, Tendou cheerfully waving them off, propped up on his elbows, smiling as sweetly and condescendingly as he can manage.

The men disappear around the corner, and Tendou whips out his phone, popping more reject cake balls into his mouth.

 **To Koutarou & Tsutomu:** Closing up early for a family thing, not serious, but don’t bother coming in today. Enjoy your day off! ☆ ～('▽^人)

He turns his phone off before he can read the responses, and frowns, eyes narrowed in the direction of where the men had walked off as he switches the open sign over to closed. Good thing he only just started on today’s cakes, able to catch up a little on his own without taking new orders.

He sighs, turns around to face the kitchen, and shakes his head.

“What has that owl boyo gotten himself into now?”

-

“Okay, so what you’re going to want to do is use your mouth _and_ your hands, they’re both really important,” Akaashi speaks through the Sharpie cap in his mouth, saliva almost dribbling out of the corner. “And don’t go too fast.”

“Akaashi, I don’t really need to know-”

Akaashi looks up at Suga, eyes flat, and Suga bites his lip. Akaashi breathes in, a familiar smell permeating the bathroom, and smiles around the cap, “Suga, I can practically smell your desire, which surprisingly smells like cinnamon. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that this is the next step above your heated makeout sessions you think we don’t know about.”

Suga groans, burying his face in one of his hands, the other hand by his side to give Akaashi access to his mark. Akaashi finishes his drawing and puts the cap back on the marker, satisfied with his work. Suga turns around, and inspects the new mark.

“That’s why you wanted me to draw a rose, right? Just in case you mysteriously find yourself shirtless on your date night?”

“It’s just in case,” Suga purses his lips, running his fingers around the blank skin around the rose. “This… looks like a badly drawn rose.”

“I tried my best-”

“No, no,” Suga pulls his shirt back over his head. “It’s perfect, he won’t see the real mark underneath. This is… this is good.”

Akaashi puts a hand on his hip and looks Suga up and down, giving him one last once-over before Daichi comes over. Again, the smell of cinnamon permeates the room, and Akaashi lightly snorts at the semi-blank expression Suga wears. Typical virgin.

“Sure you don’t want sex advice from an incubus?” Akaashi raises one eyebrow. “Because I’ve been told I’m _very_ good at my job.”

Suga lets out a defeated sigh, and leans against the door frame leading to his room. He blinks, and Akaashi knows that’s his permission.

“Start slow, I’m assuming you’ve never seen each other naked?”

“I managed to get his shirt off,” Suga admits, looking down at his feet. “But I was too scared with the mark and all to let him see me shirtless. He probably thinks I'm weird.”

“Or self conscious, which you are. But now you have a vaguely looking rose, so that's no longer an issue,” Akaashi tries to cheer him up. “Just make him want it, tease a little, and don’t be intimidated.”

“Intimidated?”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet Suga,” Akaashi fights a laugh. “Yes. Intimidated. Sucking dick is an art form that scares every amateur.”

“I’m not-” Suga lets out a frustrated noise. “Okay, fine, what’s next?”

“Like I said, make him want it, use your hands, don’t you dare try to show off and go too deep. He knows you’re new to this, and I’m more than positive he’s the kind of guy that’s going to protest you making any move to go lower than his chest, so just tell him straight up that you want to do this.”

Suga chuckles at that, hiding his reddening face in his hands, “Yeah, sounds like something he would do. I think he sees my… inexperience as something fragile, but fuck, I’ve wanted him so bad for longer than I’d like to admit.”

A thought ping-pongs through Akaashi's head, and he bites his lip.

“You know that I can see things, right?” Akaashi motions to his eyes, looking Suga up and down. “Like, I can see a little… heat signature, I guess? On your neck. And on your earlobe. They’re called pleasure spots, and I see them a lot more than I'd like to admit. Like how Kuroo has way too many for my own comfort. Or that Tanaka has one on his head," He shudders. "Want to know where I’ve seen Daichi’s?”

Suga scrunches up his nose, "Isn't that kind of cheating? And screw you for saying that about Tanaka, I will never see him the same way again."

“So you don’t want to know where to touch him to make him go crazy?” Akaashi makes a motion to go to the door.

“No!” Suga protests, reaching out. “Um. No, please. I really…" He stops himself, as if hearing himself for the first time. "Fuck, I never thought I’d be so desperate to suck someone off.”

“Neck, left side. And he probably has sensitive thighs.”

Suga nods, and Akaashi makes a real motion to leave, Suga stopping him again.

“Akaashi,” Suga starts. “What… do you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“When someone…” He makes a motion with his hands. “Gets you off, what do you like?”

Akaashi stares. What _did_ he like? 

Usually he’s just the one being used, barely prepped or immediately shoved onto his knees, taking everything he’s given for the promise of a good meal. He’s even let a few people go, completely satisfied from feeding on the sexual energy, the summoners never knowing they had summoned an Akaashi demon, brushed so close to death and were only saved by their abilities in bed.

People are desperate, when they summon an incubus. They aren’t usually the type of people to make sure he’s comfortable before doing something, and sure, he’s had some great nights, some bad nights, nights where he’s been pleasured and pained.

But when was the last time he was serviced? Catered to? Asked about what he _wants_ to do and not being told what he _should_ be doing.

“I’m not usually the one receiving,” Akaashi answers honestly. “But determination can be very sexy. Even if you’re not successful with your mouth you can still get him off with your hand while he rides the high of someone so determined to do that for him.”

“Determination,” Suga nods with confirmation. “Determination. Got it.”

“You got this, Suga,” Akaashi gives him a thumbs up. “I believe in your blow job abilities.”

“Glad one of us does,” Suga blows air out of his nose, looking down at his phone, growing frantic. “Oh gods, he’s here.”

“Good luck!”

Suga exits the bathroom with a deep breath, straightening his back and walking with purpose. Akaashi smiles and quickly locks Suga’s door to the bathroom, just so that he doesn't have to worry about it later. He slips back into Bokuto’s room, closing the bathroom door and sitting down on the bed, watching Bokuto sway to his ‘80s hits playlist, focused on his potion as he sings along to the wrong lyrics.

“Just so you know,” Akaashi mumbles. “You might want to go downstairs when Daichi and Suga come up here.”

“Why?” Bokuto speaks through lyrics of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”. 

“Suga wants to take things to the next level.”

“Oh,” Bokuto stares, blinks, turns a little red, and returns to his potion.

It’s been slowly boiling for days now, the liquid turning clearer and clearer with every passing hour. Should be done soon, and Akaashi can't help but be indifferent towards it. What's so good about some elixir that doesn't even work for more than two years? He's more excited about hearing about how Suga's date goes, or about how he caught Kenma and Kuroo making out on the couch, or what Iwaizumi and Oikawa got up to during their vacation, or what Bo-

“Bokuto,” Akaashi fits his head into his hands, holding himself up as he kicks his legs in rhythm to the music. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Bokuto chews on his thumb nail, looking at the potion, then to the grimoire, then back to the potion.

“Being ace.”

Bokuto side eyes Akaashi, looks at the potion, and then looks back at Akaashi. Akaashi almost takes back the question, but Bokuto opens his mouth.

“I don’t really know,” He starts off quiet and shrugs, eyebrows scrunched up ever so slightly. “I mean, it took a while to figure out, but that’s just because, well,” He turns fully away from the potion. “Everything still works, right? I can still… get hard. Get off. With physical stimulation, of course. And yeah, I was a teenage boy once, I’ve watched porn, I’ve… you know. Over time it just started to slip my mind, I guess. Like I was waiting for the right person but not really that at all.”

He starts to turn a darker shade of pink, motioning to himself as he speaks, giving the elixir a stir. The words “waiting for the right person” seem to turn bitter in his mouth, though, and Akaashi makes a mental note to never say that to Bokuto, or any ace person, for that matter.

“Apparently I’m ‘sex positive’,” He holds up finger quotations. “Which basically just means I don’t feel sexual attraction and don’t hate sex. I don’t see anything _wrong_ with sex it’s just… not something I feel inclined to do. To take part in. Like how Suga wants to take things to the next level with Daichi, I just don’t have urges like that, never have. Sure, if my partner one day wanted to, I’d do it, but I don’t really see myself ever…”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks back at the potion.

“I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’m just really new to the whole asexual thing, and at first they made it seem like all asexuals were sex repulsed or less of a human for not wanting or feeling something so ‘human’ and I had a mini crisis about whether or not I was a ‘real’ asexual or not, because I am sex positive, but then Tendou and I found something that said asexuals can still have and enjoy sex, and I don’t know, it’s just so confusing,” He doesn’t take a single breath the entire sentence. “I’m fine with sex, it’s just not… something I would want to,” He flaps his hands around, looking for the word, growing increasingly frustrated. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t apologize, Bokuto,” Akaashi stretches out on the bed, laying on his back. “I’m actually… rather happy that you’re so open with it. Thank you for answering my question.”

“Thanks for not thinking it’s dumb,” The corners of Bokuto’s mouth lilt upwards, and he gives the elixir a final stir. “Alright, um, crap, I don’t have a-” He rummages around for something, and frowns. “Okay, new plan, we’re taking this downstairs.”

“What if you run into Daichi and Suga-”

“A movie sounds perfect,” Daichi interrupts from the hallway, Bokuto quickly hiding the cauldron behind him in case they enter his room for some reason. “But why in your room?”

Gods, Akaashi can almost hear the nerves behind Daichi’s voice. He knows. He totally knows.

“Because it’s Kuroo’s turn to have the tv,” Suga fluidly lies, their voices disappearing into Suga’s room. Oh honey, Daichi knows why. Just go for it.

Suga’s door shuts, and they look at each other.

“Downstairs,” Bokuto quickly offers.

“Of course,” Akaashi agrees, and they pass by Suga’s room, a small click resonating from the doorknob. 

Akaashi hides a smile, and pushes Bokuto to the staircase, where Bokuto is trying to keep the cauldron heated with a small flame in his palm. Bokuto nearly runs into the kitchen, almost body-checking Kuroo on the way, and scrambles to get a cup from the cabinet.

A simple water glass. Akaashi cocks an eyebrow, taking a seat at the kitchen table as Bokuto pours the elixir into the glass, filling it up less than halfway. 

Bokuto holds it up, staring at it in pure awe, the kitchen door swinging open.

“I heard running, is the-” Kuroo pokes his head into the kitchen, eyes wide. “Holy shit, Bo, that’s successful!”

“Is it?” Bokuto holds the elixir in both hands, inspecting it from the bottom. “Hopefully! We won't know until we test it.”

“Hang on,” Kuroo leaves the room, coming back with a small potted plant, its leaves a pitiful droopy yellow, Kenma following close behind him. “This was… alive when I bought it.”

Bokuto pulls a spoon out of the drawer, and Kuroo sets the sad plant down on the table. Kuroo grabs Bokuto's hand when he gets close to the elixir.

“Wait, Bo, can you use that metal on it? Will it have a reaction?”

“It should be stable, if it’s fully done,” Bokuto sucks in a breath, closing one eye as he dips the curve of the spoon into the liquid, pulling it out and letting a few drops spill into the dirt.

Almost instantly, the plant starts to flourish, the yellow turning a beautiful, lush green, vibrant and healthy, full of _life._ Bokuto’s head snaps up and he locks eyes with Kuroo, who looks equally enthralled.

“Bro,” Kuroo squeaks, and Bokuto starts to _vibrate._

“Bro!” Bokuto starts jumping up and down, Kuroo sharing in his excitement. 

“Bro!”

“I did it!”

“You did it!”

“Elixir of life,” Bokuto says breathlessly, hands shaking as he reaches for the glass. “Fuck, no one drink it. I can’t wait to rub it in Oikawa’s face tonight, holy shit, I did it!” He pulls out his phone. “I need to tell Konoha.”

“I can’t…” Kuroo stares in wonder, running a hand through his hair to look at it with both eyes. "You fuckin' did it, you crazy bastard."

“Did he just say ‘don’t drink it’?” Kenma questions.

“Holy shit,” Kuroo whispers. “This is the elixir of life.”

“I thought it wasn’t hard to make, why is everyone freaking out?” Akaashi questions, and all three pairs of eyes look at him like he’s just drooled on himself.

“Immortality,” Kuroo points to the cup. “Immortality in a cup. Sure, it’s only for a few months for a witch, and a few years for a human, but this is… life itself. Earth-given life and protection.”

“So…” Akaashi hums.

“So, it’s awesome! One sip of this, and we could survive almost anything. With witch hunters breathing down our necks, this is huge!”

“Quiet down,” Kenma orders, eyes trailing upwards. “There’s a mortal upstairs. What if he drinks it?”

The air in the room goes stale, and they all stare at the cup in silent wonder.

“So, who gets the first sip?” Kuroo whispers.

“Let’s wait for Oikawa and Suga,” Bokuto takes the cup and gingerly puts it next to the sink, away from prying eyes. “We can decide then.”

“You could also use it to barter with mortals,” Kenma offers. “Or other witches.”

They all stare at the cup next to the sink, no one daring to speak. 

“Wow,” Kuroo breaks the silence. “We really are acting like a coven now, aren’t we?”

“Seems so,” Bokuto exhales, chest puffing out in pure pride. “Now,” He turns to Kuroo, a dark glint in his eyes. “Time to start the nightmare powder.”

Kuroo grins, “I thought you’d never ask.”

-

This was a terrible idea.

This was an absolutely terrible idea.

Here Suga is, with Daichi in his bed all vulnerable, their bodies pressed against each other, their movie playing on his laptop and might he add, almost over, and he can’t manage to make a _single_ move on him.

He’s already locked the door, so if he unlocks it, it’ll look like he was expecting something, or maybe trying to lock Daichi in like some kind of murderer, and the excited screaming from downstairs had cut off his first attempt of telling Daichi that he wanted to “watch a movie”, not _watch an actual movie._

He’s never felt so inexperienced in his life.

How fast was too fast? Was this something that couples did after a few weeks of dating? Are they moving too slow? What if he initiated something and Daichi thought he was gross? What if he told Suga that he didn’t want him in that way? What if they get to it, and Suga chickens out?

Don’t be intimidated, he reminds himself, just calm down, Suga, you can do this.

He looks at Daichi, and all his breath leaves his lungs.

No, no he can’t. Daichi is too perfect. He has two exes, and from what Daichi’s embarrassedly brushed off, Suga knows he has a body count of _at least_ five, at least one of them male. Suga has a much, much different body count, and hopefully they’ll both equal one sometime soon.

Gods, no, that’s too morbid. Don’t think about murder right now. Don’t think about Kobayashi. Or the witch hunters. Or the dreams. Killing Daichi. Yeah, no, that’s-

Get a hold of yourself, he thinks. Just stop, breathe. Breathe.

Oh gods, he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Suga, you okay?” Daichi interrupts his stupidity, squeezing the hand he’s holding. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Suga looks up at him, noticing that the movie’s already scrolling through the credits. “Not at all.”

“Want to… watch another movie?” Daichi’s eyes flicker to the screen, then back to Suga.

That. That’s his in.

“Maybe,” Suga says, immediately internally face palming. No, you idiot, fix it. Oh my gods you’re an idiot. “But,” He quickly adds. “I’m down for… anything...”

He tries to put as much seduction into the last word, locking eyes with Daichi as it leaves his lips, his voice full of want. He would cringe if he didn’t think it would have an affect.

Something passes behind Daichi’s eyes, and Suga closes his laptop, for effect. Maybe. He has no idea what he’s doing, and if Daichi asks him why he did that, he might just explode. Luckily, Daichi isn’t an idiot, and as soon as Suga leans over to put the laptop on his bedside table, Daichi is repositioning himself on the bed, hands already roaming the spots he’s already found that Suga likes.

Suga turns around and immediately presses his lips to Daichi’s, cupping his face as if holding in place was going to give him confidence. He lets his mouth fall open against Daichi, using the moment where Daichi takes control to fit himself over Daichi’s frame, hands, warm and big, sliding down his back and to his waist.

He wants this, he wants more, he wants whatever Daichi will give him tonight. Whether it be a kiss, or a hand, or anything else that will make him turn red when he’s not full of _want,_ as long as it’s Daichi, he’ll take it.

Suga drags his hands down Daichi’s chest, his tongue slipping through Daichi’s lips, Daichi chuckling into the kiss, mumbling.

“You’re kinda eager tonight.”

Suga pulls back, hands going down to the hem of Daichi’s shirt, and catches his breath, “Is this okay?”

He tugs on the shirt, and Daichi nods, helping Suga pull the fabric over his head. Suga fits his hands over his own hem, and inhales, discarding the garment and flinging it out of reach. No going back now.

Daichi’s eyes immediately go to the rose drawn on his chest, and Suga internally groans. Daichi lets out a small laugh, and runs his fingers over the drawing.

“Akaashi and Bokuto thought it would be funny,” Suga lies through his teeth. “Never fall asleep on the couch around my roommates.”

“Noted,” Daichi’s voice lilts in amusement, his eyes exploring Suga’s skin, hands still either on his waist or over his mark, eyes soft in the way that only Daichi can look.

It’s only then that Suga is aware of the pounding of his heart, how cold his hands have gone, frozen in place as Daichi moves up to meet him, fingers running through his hair. Suga would be lying if he said that he didn’t accidentally grind a little against Daichi’s leg when Daichi moved down to his neck. 

Don’t be intimidated, he reminds himself. 

Daichi runs his tongue along Suga’s neck, and Suga just about loses it right then and there. Does Daichi know about his earlobe? Just how accurate was Akaashi’s sight? He shakes his head. Sex demon. He probably knows how to do this in his sleep. 

And he has confidence in him. _Confidence._ Suga tries to find his, and sucks in a sharp breath when Daichi licks a wet stripe down to his jugular, nearly hissing in Daichi’s ear when the air cools it. Yes, he wants this. Wants _him._ His hands find Daichi’s waistband, and Daichi stiffens, and Suga immediately draws his hands away.

“Is this okay?” Suga squeaks, heart pounding even harder. So much for confidence.

“Yeah,” Daichi breathes, his voice a little shaky. “Just a little surprised.”

“O-Okay,” Suga nods, looking down at Daichi’s waistband again. He can do this. Don’t be intimidated, go slow, and don’t choke. Akaashi didn’t explicitly say that last rule, but it’s implied. 

He pulls down Daichi’s shorts as much as he can, Daichi repositioning himself to slip them down further, leaving him in just his boxers, a bulge forming in the fabric. Suga stares a little. He did that. It sinks in.

_He did that._

Suga starts to move down Daichi’s body, and Daichi’s eyes go wide, “Suga, you really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Suga cuts him off and kneels between Daichi’s legs, hands on his boxers. “I really, really want to.”

Daichi turns red, a small whine escaping his throat as he looks up at the ceiling. Then, he leans forward to kiss Suga’s forehead, his nose, his cheek, his ear, murmuring something about Suga being too hot for someone who claims to have never kissed someone before. Fuck, Akaashi was right about the earlobe. Dammit. Suga shivers, and Daichi leans back, letting Suga peel his boxers down around his knees.

Suga stares, face flushing or paling, he has no idea. Don’t be intimidated. _Don’t be intimidated._ Fuck, how can he not be intimidated, when Daichi’s so-

“Big,” Suga blurts out in a whisper, hand wrapping around Daichi’s length, giving him a few light test strokes. “Fuck, you’re big.”

“And you don’t need to do this if it’s too much,” Daichi turns sheepish. “Really, what you’re doing with your hand is great enough as-is.”

“Daichi, are you seriously turning down a blow job?” Suga rests his head against Daichi’s thigh, hand slowing down. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt…” Daichi meets Suga’s eyes and sighs in defeat. “No, I’m not.”

“Good,” Suga smiles. “And I can’t promise it’ll be any good, but I think what I lack in experience I make up for in enthusiasm.”

Daichi snorts, and Suga wracks his brain for every piece of information he’s ever retained on the subject. He should lick from base to tip, right? That did something, didn’t it? Or should he just go straight for the head, since that’s what most people do? What _do_ people do?

Hell if he knows, this is the closest he’s gotten to someone else’s dick since he accidentally walked in on Bokuto in the shower.

Fuck it, he experimentally swipes his tongue across the tip, the bitter taste of precum spilling over his tongue not what he expected. He fights the urge to wrinkle up his nose, and tries again, flattening his tongue against the underside of the shaft, bringing it back up to the tip. 

Suga runs his free hand up Daichi’s thigh, stopping over a spot that makes Daichi stifle a moan, and he lightly grips, bringing his mouth closer to Daichi’s flushed cock. His eyes flutter up to Daichi as if to say that this is the last moment to back out of it, and Daichi just stares back, in pure wonder of what Suga might do next. 

Something swells in Suga’s chest, a sort of pride that this is it, Daichi’s literally putty in his hands, all of his pleasure leaning on whatever Suga decides to do with him. And Suga _really_ wants to see Daichi at his mercy, begging for release, hear what noises he makes, see the faces he makes in every moment of pleasure. He wants to know what his name sounds like as a growl, or a whine.

Suga licks his lips, parts them, and slides down over the tip, taking as much as he can, which is not very much, over his tongue. It’s firm, and heavy, and warm. Suga should have expected that, but for some reason, the thought never crossed his mind. 

And Daichi smells like fresh soap, up this close. It’s more of a relief than anything, but there’s something intoxicating about the smell of lavender that makes him want to push just a little bit closer, blindly swirl his tongue over the slit, give a small content hum.

It’s the hum that gets the first gasp to pass through Daichi’s defenses, and Suga looks up, lost in Daichi’s gaze. He pulls back a little, trying to keep his mouth open as wide as he can, and sinks back over Daichi, never leaving his gaze. 

Daichi’s hand tugs on his hair, and Suga can’t help but moan at the contact. He’s always loved when people play with his hair, but in this case? Fuck, his pants feel a little too tight. Wait, why does he still have them on? Shit, his mind is too scattered.

He pulls off of Daichi, a small strand of saliva detaching him from Daichi, flicking against his chin. 

“Too much?” Daichi questions, reaching out for Suga, and Suga shakes his head, unbuttoning his pants. 

“Too much pants,” Suga mumbles, wiping his chin on the back of his hand, pulling off his shorts and boxers in one motion. “Can’t let you have all the naked fun.”

Suga sits on his knees in front of Daichi again, brushing his hair out of his face, running both hands along Daichi’s thighs, steadying himself as he goes back down. Daichi’s hip buck upwards, and Suga lightly gags, the tip hitting a little too far into the back of his throat. It burns, gods, it's not a fun feeling, and tears start to form in his eyes.

“Fuck, you okay?” Daichi panics, and Suga gives him a thumbs up, fighting through the strain as he wipes his watering eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to- _fuck.”_

Suga takes that as a sign to keep going, and he does, bobbing on what he can take, using his hand on everything he can’t, speeding up his hand when he pulls off to take a breath. He accidentally pushes it a little too far a few more times, but nothing that makes him feel like he’s going to die. But his jaw is starting to throb, a dull ache straining his throat, and his eyes have started watering more than he’d like them to. He probably looks like a mess, but he's too preoccupied with more pressing matters to care.

He deflates, pulling off of Daichi with a final lick, knowing that he can't keep this up. Instead, he focuses on moving upwards to kiss Daichi’s stomach, his chest, and if Daichi will let him, back up to his mouth. He does, and hands lock around Suga’s back, those big, warm hands moving closer and closer to his own neglected length. 

“I don’t think I can finish you off like that,” Suga apologizes into Daichi’s mouth, and Daichi cracks a grin. "You're a little too much to handle for the first time."

“I think it’s admirable you tried,” Daichi returns, running his palm over Suga’s head to gather what he can, the motions smoother. 

“Next time,” Suga gasps as Daichi brings them together, hand moving fluidly. “Fuck, you’re better at this than I am.”

He throws his head back, just a little, just enough, grabbing at Daichi’s shoulders just to grab something, anything. Daichi smiles up at him, thumbing over Suga’s tip, smearing the leaking beads across his length. Suga lets out a whine, and does the same to Daichi, hoping that he can keep up just by mirroring his movements. “You’re not bad, yourself.”

“Fuck,” Suga lets slip, all other words leaving him. He’s done this before, gotten himself to the edge, gotten himself over it, but to have someone else take control? He’s never felt the pleasure coil in his stomach quite like this, and it’s bordering Too Much yet Not Enough. “Faster, please.”

His voice is a desperate beg, a desperate beg for any friction he can get. He’s close, he knows that he’s close, his legs starting to tremble, his breathing scattered. His face is probably bright red, his lips swollen, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he wants is some release, wants Daichi’s hands to get him there.

He barely has time to notice that he’s started to speed up his own actions before Daichi’s movements get sloppy, mouth against his own in open-mouth pants rather kisses, hot breath spilling over his skin, his tear stains. It’s warm, it’s hot, even, and it’s bleary, fuzzy, and everything in between.

“Close,” He moans, falling into the crook of Daichi’s neck, chin resting on his shoulder.

Daichi just grunts in agreement, and Suga’s hips move on their own, thrusting shallowly into Daichi’s hand, and Suga squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to stop moving his hand as if it were on himself. He’s close, too close, too sensitive, too _close._

He lets go, not sure of the noises he’s making, if he’s made any at all, trembling against Daichi’s chest as he rides out the high, the pressure not leaving him as he comes down, vaguely aware of Daichi’s climax as it splatters across both their stomachs. 

It’s just heavy breathing, leaning on Daichi’s shoulder, hand gradually moving away as Daichi peppers kisses against his skin, drinking him in. Suga runs a hand along his stomach and groans, unsticking himself from Daichi, almost drunk with pleasure. 

“I guess this is the part where we shower?” He looks down at the makeshift Pollock painting, grimacing.

It feels gross, how sweaty and sticky he is, how sweaty and sticky he’s gotten Daichi. He doesn’t even want to look at the sheets, his poor comforter taking most of the hit, and he has two guesses as to what it might be. He runs his hand over the fabric.

Yep, definitely sweaty and gross. And now he's smeared even more questionable fluids into it.

“Definitely, if that’s alright with you.”

“Hm,” Suga taps a finger to his chin, climbing off of Daichi. “Well as much as I’d like to see the look on your roommates’ faces when you go home looking like that, mine would never let us live it down.”

“Well, thank you,” Daichi rolls his eyes with a grin. “So generous of you to let me clean myself up.”

Suga cracks a smile and unlocks the bathroom door, peering inside before fully opening it. It’s the one flaw of the house, that the bathroom doors lock from the bedrooms and not the bathroom itself, which is why he’s walked in on Bokuto way too many times, and Bokuto seeing way too much of him. He’s even walked in on Akaashi taking a shower once, and he’s never seen something as beautiful as Akaashi with wet hair.

Gods, he’s so gay for men. So very weak. If he had been the one to summon Akaashi, he'd definitely be dead by now.

He starts the shower, and Daichi hugs him from behind, Suga jumping at the sudden contact. Daichi kisses a line down his neck, steam slowly starting to roll out over the top of the attached bath, Daichi working his way back up to his ear. Somehow, fitting in his arms like this, it just feels right. Safe. Like he's not being actively hunted down and dreaming about murder.

“Next time, I owe you a favor,” Daichi’s voice is low, rumbling in his chest, more of a promise than anything, and Suga just about melts on the spot.

Yes, he is so, _so_ very weak.

-

“You know,” Oikawa opens the front door, shoving the key back into his pocket as he looks around the dark house. “We could have just gotten dinner here, maybe then there would still be people around to graciously welcome me back home with cheers and merriment.”

“You’re delusional,” Iwaizumi leaves the duffel bags on the floor next to the door, fixing his hoodie. “But it’s one in the morning, and stopping for dinner wouldn’t have changed the arrival time much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa waves him off, walking into the kitchen. “You can spend the night, I don’t want you walking home this late.”

“So gracious,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, getting out a cup from the cabinet and filling it with tap water, almost finishing it in one gulp. “You know, I wouldn’t mind keeping a car that nice.”

He motions outside, where The Faction of Night has rented Oikawa a self-driving car for their travels. It’s nice, getting to talk to Iwaizumi the entire ride without needing to worry about him being a terrible driver and Iwaizumi getting frustrated with everyone else on the road.

“I’d probably have to work a hundred years to save up that much money,” Oikawa snorts, looking at a small plant on the table. “Oh, this is lovely,” He inspects the leaves. “I wonder who got this, because knowing,” He motions frantically to the whole house. “It would have been dead by now.”

“Like you don’t kill every plant you touch,” Iwaizumi huffs. “I’m still angry at you for killing my cactus.”

“For the seven billionth time, Iwa, I did not kill your cactus. It just… died. In my hands.”

“It exploded. It was my college cactus that I bought for my first apartment. His name was Kaiju.”

“You can’t prove that was me that killed your dumbly named cactus,” Oikawa tilts his nose up, and Iwaizumi grabs his water, smiling into it before taking another sip.

It’s hot on his tongue, almost bitter and sweet. He swallows reflexively, sputtering the rest out over his chest, the floor, everything. He slams the glass down, effectively spilling everything that was left in it, and coughs, or rather, retches, into the sink. The taste is foul, and he gags, cupping water into his hands just to feebly attempt to wash it out as Oikawa rushes over and pats his back.

A tired and curious looking Kuroo enters the kitchen, a blanket from the living room wrapped over his head and around his shoulders as his eyes go to the pair, then to the plant, then to the identical cups of water by the sink.

The blanket falls off his shoulders, and he stares, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“DID YOU JUST FUCKING _DRINK_ THAT?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like Suga when I write smut, what I lack in experience I make up for in enthusiasm. Also, I didn't want the smut to be ~sexy~ I wanted it to be hella awkward. Look at them, just two bisexual disasters. Someone save them.


	15. Goodbye Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My weekly update deadlines just so happened to fall on my birthday today hehe, so enjoy this gift from me to you! Hope everyone has a great day :D 
> 
> Chapter Song: Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus

It’s not that Iwaizumi _wanted_ to drink the clear and absolutely disgusting potion that the coven had left out for anyone to grab. He’s a victim of fate, he thinks, just a passenger on the ride that is this twisted life. This might as well happen with someone like Tooru in his life. 

But then again, with how the witches are looking at him, he’s a little relieved that he’s probably been gifted temporary immortality, Bokuto’s eyes a stormy grey that might just cloud his every move. It’s terrifying, really, the true form of witches, and what Oikawa’s might look like flashes in his mind before his blood starts to chill.

“I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that elixir,” Bokuto mutters, arms over his chest, the storm in his eyes flickering angrily. “Literally, my own blood was the base!”

Iwaizumi almost throws up again right then and there, a metallic taste still lingering on his tongue even though he’s brushed and gargled out most of the liquid. Bokuto continues his rant.

Apparently all it takes is one sip.

“And I used Akaashi’s blood!”

Iwaizumi stifles a gag, and Oikawa’s grip on him tightens.

“Wait,” Kuroo holds up his hand, pointing to Bokuto. “Why did you put your blood in it?”

“It…” Bokuto deflates. “It was the base?”

“Virgin blood,” Oikawa mumbles an explanation, hand moving to rest on Iwaizumi’s thigh as if he’s ready to push him out of the way if need be, the act the exact opposite of comforting. “Of course. A great base, really, effective, which means the elixir might work longer than expected. Very hard to find.”

Equally hard to stomach.

“Look,” Suga tries to de-escalate, holding his hands out as if to shush everyone. “We can always make another. We have the nightmare powder, we have steps on how to possibly nullify our own magic traces, and I have a way to undo the tracking spells that Kenma put on us. We have time to make another.”

“Why did we even make one in the first place?” Akaashi breaks the silence, crossing his legs and running a hand through his somehow perfect bedhead. Bokuto opens his mouth, the words escaping him. 

No one answers. 

Iwaizumi can suddenly see why they left the elixir out for anyone to drink, as it seems no one knows exactly what they’re doing and just hoping for the best. Whether that’s a good or a bad idea, Iwaizumi has no clue.

“So,” Akaashi leans on the armrest next to him. “We have an immortal mortal now, I’m sure that’s still useful in some way. At least we know that Bokuto can make a successful potion, and I’m sure making a second will be easier this time around.”

“You’re right, ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto beams, instantly perking back up as if nothing had ever irked him, the storm in his eyes mellowing out at the mere sound of Akaashi’s voice.

“But we don’t even know if he is immortal,” Oikawa counters, squeezing his arm, eyes darkening. “And I refuse to let _anyone_ test that.”

A sharp pain ripples through his right bicep so fast he questions the pain was even real until a hot wetness trickles down his arm. He stares down at his slashed skin, a small spurt of blood pulsing out and down his arm. Akaashi raises a claw to his mouth, licking clean a small swipe of crimson. The wound left behind closes up almost immediately, with only a dull throb remaining. He opens his fist and clenches it, and damn, if that sore spot from lifting heavy boxes didn’t also disappear...

Iwaizumi stares, at the bloodied yet clear skin, then at Akaashi as he licks his finger free of _his_ own blood, and then to the equally wide eyes of the witches, Oikawa’s grip on him faltering as he drags a finger over the former wound. Kenma looks back down at his new phone, “Well that settles that.”

“What, so like, I’m not ever going to die?” Iwaizumi starts to panic. 

Sure, he was all for spending the rest of his life with Oikawa, but he didn’t want that to be _forever._ Which sounds awful now that he’s putting it into words, but then again, who the hell wants to live forever? Wants to watch the world die, watch climate change get worse and tip past the point of no return, watch as humans killed the current planet and were forced to flee to destroy other worlds? Forever with the man he loves sounds like heaven, but he’d rather settle for actual heaven.

The witches _laugh._

Iwaizumi sinks into the sofa, even Oikawa chuckling next to him, threading fingers through his hair. 

“No, no,” Kuroo quickly dispels between fits of laughter, or in his case, cackles. “Two years, max.”

Iwaizumi’s sigh of relief is nothing less than staggered.

“But seriously,” Bokuto fakes wiping a tear from his eye. “If I’m going to make another one,” Bokuto’s nose scrunches up as he looks at Akaashi. “I’m not collecting any more demon blood. Someone else has to do it. I can’t handle the smell.”

Suga and Kenma’s noses scrunch up, too, and Akaashi doesn’t look offended in the least. He just shrugs in agreement. Iwaizumi’s never been happier to not know what the hell is happening, but he can gather enough to keep up. He’s learned a lot about how witches _actually_ operate these past few months, whether it be terrifyingly accurate nightmares, doves and crows throwing themselves against the windows, messaging The Dark One (who Iwaizumi is still not convinced _isn’t_ Satan), or being gifted fucking immortality. It’s knowledge he never thought he knew he would ever need, but he’s glad to be the one mortal that these freaks can trust.

He’s in their world now, and there’s no going back, even if he wanted to.

“Should we tell a Dark One?” Kenma pipes up, and Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of a photo of a group of people, a flash of yellow hair the most prevalent among the white, on his screen before it shuts off and Kenma sticks it back into his hoodie. “That’s the next step for this sort of thing, yeah? If you were Light, a Light One would need to be notified of mishaps immediately, especially with something as important as immortality.”

Everyone stares at Kenma like he’s grown a second head.

“Kenma, I love you, but that’s just not something you do. We’re Dark, we lie,” Kuroo mumbles. “This,” He motions to Iwaizumi. “This stays between everyone in this room and this room alone.”

“But Bokuto told Konoha-”

“Ah-” Bokuto holds up a finger. “I told him that I made it, I did not tell him that we had used it. Friendly lying. As far as anyone outside of this room is concerned, we are immortal for the next few months, and I will be praised when I get back to the library.”

The room considers the weight of the situation, and Iwaizumi moves to make use of the silence.

“Why can’t people know?” Iwaizumi almost regrets asking, the way everyone’s heads turn from Kenma to him. The blank stares, the looks of disgust. Even Akaashi looks a little wary next to him.

“First off, they’ll ask why we needed it in the first place,” Kuroo pulls his legs up close to his body, and Iwaizumi can feel a lecture brewing. “Then they’ll find out witch hunters are here, and that’s the absolute _last_ thing we need. More witches. More _Dark_ witches.”

“What does it matter? Wouldn’t that make it safe for everyone?”

“Well,” Oikawa starts, clearing his throat. “Iwa, first of all, _we_ are Dark,” He motions to the room. “You know what that means right?”

“Shadow to Light, Night to Day, something else that sounds cheesy?” Iwaizumi says flatly, and Oikawa’s face demands a serious answer. “Balance. I know.”

“It _means_ that the first task they gave Suga to prove his loyalty was to kill _one_ witch hunter,” Oikawa continues, Suga shifting in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Imagine what the fiercely loyal ones will do. The ones with decades of power and experience in Dark magic.”

“Interrogating everyone,” Kuroo lists off.

“Killing every witch hunter they find without mercy or trial,” Suga adds.

“Not to mention we’d be relocated,” Bokuto nods like ‘mass murder’ wasn’t even the worst of it.

“And you’re probably the first immortal to still hang around the witches that gave you the elixir,” Suga’s brow furrows. “An immortal that’s sided with Dark witches isn’t something I want the Dark Ones to find out about. Probably turn you into an immortal soldier or something, knowing who’s in charge,” The last part turns into a bitter mumble in the back of Suga’s throat, barely audible.

“And with a constant supply of A-rank demon blood, they’d probably force Bo to make potent elixirs for the rest of his life,” Kuroo hikes his thumb up to Bokuto.

“Which means Akaashi would be claimed as property of The Faction of Night-” Bokuto’s expression droops.

“Alright,” Iwaizumi snaps. “I get it. No one can know I’m immortal, avoid all other Dark witches at all costs.”

“Well, the younger ones like us and Konoha, since _somebody_ had to tell him, are more understanding. But if you find anyone who isn’t freshly converted, yes, avoid them at all costs,” Oikawa points a finger at him, like a scolding mother. “I refuse to let anyone take you away from me. You’re even more precious now that you have immortal blood, and older witches are enough of a nightmare to deal with without an immortal thrown into the mix.”

_Precious._

Iwaizumi stands at nearly 5’11, weighs a healthy amount underneath his muscle, and often gets put in the back room or just anywhere away from customers for the sole reason that his band shirts are “too scary” for the children and old ladies that come into the shop. He’s never been _precious_ before, and the word sends a plume of heat up his neck, his ears burning red.

“Speaking of nightmares,” Suga starts, only to have Bokuto cut in.

“Not another prophetic nightmare, is it? What did the book say? Maybe they’ll help us figure out what to do-”

Suga holds up his hand with tired eyes, and Bokuto slowly starts to trail off until his words are no more than a small squeak. Suga pulls a vial out of his pocket, and tosses it to Oikawa.

“I was _going_ to say that the nightmare powder finished before we went to bed, so I bottled it up already. Oikawa is going to put it in the coffee, so whatever you do, do not drink anything from the café until it’s used up and completely washed free from the appliances, just to be safe.”

Iwaizumi hand idly drifts back up to where Oikawa had struck him with his goddamn power fist. It’s still a little tight, his breath a little wheezy if he tries too hard, but the elixir of life is pretty good at healing things. Go figure.

“Any more dreams, though?” Bokuto insists. “Because I read the book, too, and I think that the crows are really important, especially since there’s a whole flock-”

“Murder,” Suga interrupts, the word bringing out the dark circles under his eyes in the shadows of the room. “A flock of crows is called a murder. And no, nothing recent, which makes me… less inclined to want to sleep tonight. I can almost feel the nightmare coming on every time I close my eyes.”

Suga fits his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the armrest, and he sighs, then yawns.

“I keep talking to my inner witch in them, and they all involve either killing Daichi, disappointing the people close to me, or getting attacked by birds. Always the birds. What the hell is up with the birds? It’s like I’m in a fucking Alfred Hitchcock movie.”

“What was the last one?”

Suga gestures vaguely, “Inner witch basically said I suck, drowned Daichi in a lake, and then a black dove with human hands told me I owed him twenty bucks.”

“And these are nightmares?” Kuroo tries not to smile at the last part.

“It is when you’re the one drowning him,” Suga shivers, eyes glazing over. “Did you know that when you drown, your eyes bulge a little? It’s not pretty or peaceful, it’s absolutely terrible.”

Iwaizumi grimaces, and Suga sighs into his palm again. No one can deny that Suga looks spent, tired beyond belief, and ready to either collapse right then and there or snap and tear someone’s head off for looking at him wrong.

He looks stressed, above everything else, his leg bouncing up and down as he stares at the wall. It’s well past three in the morning now, and everyone looks pretty worn out, sitting around in nothing but pajamas (or less). He probably hasn’t gotten any sleep yet, since he was the first person to respond to Kuroo’s yelling when the mixed up water cups incident first took place.

Suga yawns, and that’s enough to dispel the rest of the conversation until the morning, Oikawa barely awake enough by the time they get alone in his room that he just flops down face-down on the bed fully clothed.

“Mmsrreewa,” Oikawa mumbles into the pillow, tilting his head to the side, sputtering hair out of his mouth. He tries again. “I’m sorry, Iwa, you’ve been dragged into yet another one of my messes. Gods, you’re fucking immortal now,” He watches as Iwaizumi cleans off his arm, staring at the wound. “What have we done to you?”

“Just how often do you get yourself into these types of things?” Iwaizumi shrugs off his clothes, slipping into his last pair of clean pajama pants.

Oikawa throws his hands up and lets them fall back to the bed. “There was the murder, the body magic, the blackout, the witch hunters, the nightmare, and now I have this,” He holds up the nightmare powder before tossing it onto his bedside table with a small clatter. “And considering our track record, I’m almost certain that someone problematic for us is going to somehow drink this. My money’s on that little gremlin Nishinoya. Hell, even Akaashi might be affected by this, gods forbid, cause that’s somehow more terrifying than the idea of Bokuto or Kuroo sleepcasting.”

Iwaizumi doesn't even want to ask what a demon might have nightmares about, and crawls into bed as Oikawa strips of everything except his oversized “travel shirt” and underwear, pulling on pants and throwing the covers onto Iwaizumi.

“I’m worried about Suga, though,” Oikawa mumbles against Iwaizumi’s chest, waving his finger to make the lights go out. “I can’t imagine what his nightmares must be turning into. I just have a bad feeling about it all. I had one that probably isn’t going to come true, but his seem morbidly vivid, even for a witch. I don’t think the killing Daichi part is entirely telling, and is probably his subconscious mental state as much as my nightmare was, but the birds really freak me out.”

“So he owes a pigeon twenty bucks?”

Oikawa blows air against his skin, a small smile cracking.

“How dare you make me laugh when I’m worried.”

“I do what I can.”

“I’m so glad you’re not a witch, Iwa,” Oikawa nestles further into him, his breathing starting to even out. “I don’t think I can handle any more surprises.”

Iwaizumi pulls the covers over them more, and stares at the ceiling, only the sound of Oikawa’s peaceful snoring filling the room. He blinks, the heavy creep of slumber slowly overtaking him, his last thought that of how he can’t handle any more surprises, either.

-

“Alright,” Suga leans against a tree, frowning. “What is it today? I have work in the afternoon, let’s just get this over with.”

His mirror-self makes a flower crown in the dirt while humming to himself, fingers working to intertwine each stem with increasing skill. It’s another sea shanty, which Suga will never understand. Did he subconsciously love sea shanties? What did _that_ entail for his deepest thoughts? 

Better keep that one to himself.

“So, where’s Daichi,” He claps his hands together, looking around. “Maybe this time we can set him on fire, you haven't subjected me to that yet.”

His mirror-self doesn’t react, and puts the crown on his head with a small pleased smile. Suga looks down at the change in outfit, no longer a simple shirt and jeans like they both usually wear, but his mirror-self is dressed like some kind of capeless vampire, frilly shirt and all.

Unpack the vampirism later, kill Daichi now.

“Have you just turned to ignore me, now, is that it? Is that the torture?” Suga breathes, glad that the exhaustion he usually feels isn’t something that exists in his headscape. “That I have to take matters into my own hands like you keep telling me to?”

His mirror-self draws a rose in the dirt, looking even more pleased with himself.

“You have been drawing many roses lately, brother,” A tall man approaches, and nothing about him screams ‘brother’, his hair dark and wavy, pulled back into a ponytail, his eyes pointed. Both Suga and the Not-Suga flinch in unison at the sound of his voice, quickly composing themselves.

“Yes, I do seem to be fond of them as of late,” His mirror-self hums, and the family grimoire seeps out of the ground, Not-Suga flipping through the pages. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Suga flops down in the dirt with a sharp huff, and waits for his mirror-self to acknowledge him. This tall guy will probably end up shapeshifting into Daichi anyways. Suga wonders if it’s true that your subconscious uses faces it’s seen on the street to fill in strangers’ faces in dreams. This man seems familiar, might have been a recent customer, but there’s something off.

Then again, what isn’t off? He’s waiting for the dream to turn to murder.

“Just curious as to what you have been up to,” The man hums, tapping his chin. “The family seems to be empty without you lately.”

“I think people can do without me, yes?”

Not-Suga’s eyes drift over to meet Suga’s, if only for a second. Alright, so this is one of _those_ dreams. The one where he disappoints someone.

“Have you chosen a pathway yet, Sugawara?”

“Black magic,” He answers simply. “My father would be so proud to hear of my sacrifice to study something that would please him.”

There it is. His father would want this for him. He groans, the scene continuing, undisturbed.

“I am sure he would,” The man’s eyes drift to the flower crown on his head, and then to the grimoire. “Your task went exemplary, as expected.”

“If I could not handle it, I would have left then and there. The preservation of my own magic exceeds the life of some witch hunter.”

“Yes, I do believe you in the right.”

He pulls a rose out of the drawing, the petals a stark white. He frowns. “I would have expected a reddish purple.”

“Maybe it is a sign of your own innocence.”

“You-” He narrows his eyes at the taller man. “You are a wretched man. I am working on it, as romance is not something I am inclined to meddle with.”

“If you do not hurry up soon, you will lose him.”

“Maybe I will ask him to accompany me to the spring celebrations,” He snorts, wiggling his eyebrows. “Cannot let Persephone have all the fun, can we?”

The man gives him a flat look, and his mirror-self breaks out into a small fit laughter. 

“I shall return to the house soon, brother, do not worry so much about me.”

The man’s mouth presses into a line. “It is part of my nature, you know, to worry about you.”

“Then it cannot be helped,” He stands to his feet, brushing off his pants. “Go on ahead.”

The man turns around and walks off into the fog, the mirror-self turning to Suga, eyes wide like he’s just seeing him for the first time. He pulls the crown off of his own head like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, eyes quickly narrowing as he towers over the still-sitting Suga.

“You sleep way too much, Koushi,” He sneers, forcefully fitting the crown on Suga’s head, flicking his ear. “One day you might just not wake up.”

Suga’s eyes snap open and he sits upward with a swift jolt, eyes scanning over the familiarity of his room, morning light peeking through from behind his curtain. He raises a hand to his head, a throb forming at the front of his skull, and a soft weight plops into his lap.

Suga reaches from behind the covers, fingers shakily finding the silky petals of a single white rose. He holds it up, the rose turning golden in the fresh sunlight, his breath hitching in the back of his throat. 

He throws the rose across the room like it’s poisonous, and the throb subsides.

-

“You know, I was kind of expecting you to come in today, Daichi,” Oikawa says with pursed lips as he pours Daichi a cup of coffee.

“Yeah?”

“Just a feeling,” Oikawa puts a lid on the coffee, and takes the five dollar bill out of Daichi’s hand, keeping the change when Daichi waves him off as he tries to hand it back. “Call it intuition.”

Daichi takes a sip of the black coffee, a small grainy texture skimming the top. Oikawa’s admittedly not the best at making coffee, and coffee grounds tend to worm their way in, if Daichi doesn't somehow spill some on himself first.

“Hey,” Daichi begins, making sure there’s no one behind him. Oikawa’s eyebrow raises expectantly. “Is Suga okay? He seems a little…”

“Stressed? Anxious?”

“Tired,” Daichi scratches his face. “I saw him pour a soda over his hand without realizing it had overflowed. A full twenty seconds.”

He would have stepped in, but Tanaka and Nishinoya had a bet going and held him back.

“Nightmares,” Oikawa’s eyes quickly drift to the coffee in his hands and then snap back up with an innocent glare. “Seems to be going around. Must be in the water.”

“Yeah,” Daichi concedes, taking another sip. “What are your dinner plans for tonight?”

“Unfortunately,” Oikawa dons a flashy smile, eyeing Iwaizumi in the corner of the room. “I am taken, but I’m sure Suga would love if you asked him the same thing.”

Daichi can’t give someone a flatter look.

“It’s my turn to cook, which means I’m ordering a pizza,” Oikawa’s smugness drops. “Go, take him something special, just you two. I’m sure that he’ll explode with happiness or whatever it is Suga does when something finally goes his way,” Oikawa sighs, and leans on the counter. “He loves the Italian food on Winthrop Ave but hates the restaurant itself, don’t ask why, we don’t know either, so get takeout.”

Daichi’s lips twitch upward, and his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Thig- Daichi,” Oikawa mumbles, turning away before Daichi can wonder what he was about to call him.

He presses answer and holds the phone up to his ear.

“Aoi, you can’t just call me whenever you want.”

“I can do what I want,” His sister’s voice rings out from the other end, and Daichi pushes past the two men from the diner as they hold the door open for him with a fake smile. “Can’t I call my loving older brother without being _accused_ of wanting something?”

“I never accused you, I just know who you are as a person,” Daichi takes another sip of his coffee. “So what is it?”

“When are you coming back to visit?” She whines. “Life sucks here with just me, mom, dad, and the twins. I need you. Need Rin. Anyone that doesn’t talk about either work or minecraft, please.”

Daichi suppresses a smile. “Well today I started my shift at noon-”

“I hate you.”

“I can talk about minecraft instead.”

“I swear I will suffocate you when you sleep. Or steal all your old hoodies.”

“That’s not much of a threat is it,” Daichi muses.

“Dick,” Aoi mutters. “My boyfriend won’t give me his hoodies and I have needs to look like a taken woman with an oversized hoodie. A girl needs to feel cute, you know?”

“Boyfriend?” Daichi sputters, ignoring the fact that he and Aoi are the same size and his old hoodies probably wouldn’t even fit her. “Since when does anyone want you as a girlfriend?”

Aoi gasps. “Rude! Like you have room to talk, mister still heartbroken over Michimiya.”

“Hey,” The word is a warning, so strong that the people next to Daichi on the street flinch. “For your information, I have moved on, and you’re _not_ the only one with a new boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Aoi exclaims, and he can hear footsteps clamoring down the stairs on the other line. He instantly regrets telling her, because he can hear their mom’s voice in the background. “Mom! Daichi has a boyfriend!”

“He does?” She sounds a little too shocked, and Daichi rubs his face, sitting on a park bench, knowing that he’ll probably have to use the excuse that his break is ending soon if his mother ever gets control of the phone. “Did you tell him about Oliver?”

“Not yet but this is important! Someone wants to date _Daichi_. Hang on Dai, putting you on speakerphone,” There’s a rustling noise, and Daichi takes another sip of his coffee. “Alright, spill, what’s your boyfriend’s name, does he live in Canada like your fake girlfriend in middle school?”

“Suga,” He responds, a smile tracing his lips. “He’s the neighbor and coworker I was telling you about. Very real, I can assure you.”

“An office romance?” Aoi gasps loudly. “Stay out of the break room alone with him, Dai, you can get fired for that-”

“Hey,” He and his mom warn at the same time. 

“I am not-” Daichi just sips on his coffee. “We are not those kinds of people.”

“That’s good to hear,” His mom mutters, somewhat amused. “And guess what, honey, Aoi here has a boyfriend of her own! And he’s a very nice and handsome young man. Has too many piercings for my liking, but-”

“He’s perfect!” Aoi exclaims. “His name is Oliver and he’s in my calculus class, and he loves bats. He has a bat tattoo and everything! Better than your shitty smiley face-”

“Aoi, that’s enough of that language,” His mother scolds. “But yes, I will admit his battoo is pretty _bat-_ ass,” Daichi and Aoi groan, and their mother sounds very pleased with herself. “You should come visit, Daichi, and bring this Suga boy with you. I can practically hear your smile, and I would love to meet him.”

“I don’t think we’re at the meet-the-family stage yet,” Daichi lowers his voice, looking around like Suga might pop out at any moment, the bad puns alone enough to summon him. “I do… talk about y’all a lot though.”

“Bring him over! Bring him over!” Aoi begins to chant, and his mother takes control of the phone.

“I’ve known about him for all of two minutes and I can already hear how happy you are, I think that warrants the meet-the-family stage, don’t you think?”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Daichi purses his lips. “And my break is ending soon-”

“You know who else has a new boyfriend? The girl that lives down the street that you used to play with-” “Mom.” “You know the one. Oh, what’s her name? Aoi, who’s the girl that lives down the street-” “Mom.” “Sarah!” “Samantha,” Aoi corrects. “Samantha! She just graduated, did you hear that?” “Mom.”

“Did you hear that, Daichi, isn’t that great?”

“Mom, my break is ending, I gotta go-”

“Ask Suga what his favorite food is, I’ll make it when he comes over-”

“Mom, my break-”

“I can’t wait to hear more about him, call me later or I’ll come visit up there myself!”

“Mom,” Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mama, I have to go, please, I love you-”

“I love you too Daichi! I’ll be expecting that call.”

“Alright, bye-”

“And send pictures of Suga! I want to see him.”

“Bye-”

“And be safe! Wear protection, you don’t want another scare like you had with-”

“Bye!” Daichi presses the ‘end call’ so fast that his thumb gets whiplash.

He holds his head in his hands with a groan, and finishes his coffee, sending the best selfie he has of the two of them to his mom before she can call back, and shoves the phone into his pocket, throwing his empty coffee cup away.

He immediately fishes his phone back out of his pocket and stares at the picture for a few seconds, at Suga’s little peace sign, at his radiant smile, and feels himself go warm and fuzzy. His mom responds with a comment about how “sweet” Suga looks, and how Daichi has never been super photogenic. Although, he can’t deny that it’s been a while since his smile was so big.

-

“Let’s try here again, Wakatoshi,” Terushima points to the right side of the road, his legs heavy from all the walking they’ve already done. Dear god he hates this town.

The townsfolk are already well aware of their canvassing, and there’s not much left to gather. He’s ready to give up, say that the disturbances are due to ley lines, and move on to a new project. Kinoshita didn’t even experience the encounter firsthand, just called it in, and Ennoshita is less than helpful, insisting a demon had glowing eyes.

Ley lines might explain some things, but glowing eyes are a bit of a telltale sign of witches, but if there is one (and one means more) in this boring little town, they’re very good at hiding.

“Wakatoshi, I think Ennoshita knows more than he’s letting on,” Terushima pushes past a man exiting the café with a cup of coffee. “I do not trust him at all.”

“I am glad you have reached the same conclusion,” Ushijima responds, walking up to the man running the counter. 

“Hello,” The worker fakes a smile, like every other person that works with the general public. “What can I get you two today?”

“Have you seen this mark anywhere?”

The man looks at the piece of paper, and gives a lazy smile.

“Not since the last time you two were in here.”

Terushima fights the urge to give up right then and there. He officially hates small towns. All of them. He’ll never take a case involving a small town ever again, since rumors start to spread within minutes and everyone starts to keep their mouth shut.

This isn’t going to look good on his performance report, and a few months before his team gets a possible new hire, too. What unfortunate timing.

“Oh, what’s this?” One of the man’s coworkers snatches the paper out of the brunet’s hands, inspecting it. “Ah, this tattoo. I’m starting to think about getting one, I’ve seen this drawing so much.”

Terushima’s eye twitches.

“I would strongly advise against it,” Ushijima says for him.

“Why, is it a cultist tat?” The pink-haired man teases, holding the drawing up to the light. “Iwa, you should get one of these,” He shouts to the man sitting in the corner. “Couples tattoos, you both love disgusting shit like that.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” The brunet, Tooru, according to his nametag, rolls his eyes. “We’re not the ones that _made use of_ the break room.”

“Yet,” The man with pink hair sticks his tongue out and Tooru playfully shoves him. “Hear that, Iwa?”

Iwa scowls at him.

“It is not a cultist tattoo,” Ushijima starts.

“We’re looking into the death of Haru Kobayashi, and this mark could really help us find out what happened,” Terushima smiles sweetly.

“Shit, isn’t that the dude that was stalking your roommate?” Pink hair looks at Tooru, eyes wide.

Terushima and Ushijima shift in unison. Tooru looks ready to strangle his coworker with the towel in his hands.

“Not stalk,” He grits his teeth, forcing a smile. “His boss likes paranormal things, remember? Same as Kobayashi. He just made him uncomfortable.”

“And where does this roommate work? We’d love to talk to his boss. It seems we have a… common interest.”

“I’m afraid that you two don’t make me quite comfortable either,” Tooru turns stoic, something flickering behind his eyes.

Terushima narrows his gaze, trying to keep the smile on his face.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Mister Kobayashi was one of our own, even if he was a little off, and Tanaka would help a great deal. Did you hear that he saw a _demon_ one night? Crazy shit, man, crazy shit.”

Oh, what Terushima wouldn't give to thank this man. Anything he wants, he’ll give. Maybe even make use of that break room, too. Finally, _a lead._ He could just about start crying now that he doesn't have to face Washijo empty-handed.

“Tanaka, you said?” He asks like it’s a breath of fresh air.

“Yeah, at the-”

A loud _thunk_ echoes through the café, all heads turning to face the small splotch of red that’s smeared down the center of the window. Terushima looks at Ushijima. Ushijima looks at Terushima. They nod, and Terushima swallows thickly. 

Pink hair groans, “Not again. What the hell is up with the pigeons in this town, man? They wanna die as much as the rest of us.”

“Are you okay?” Tooru mumbles to his coworker. “That’s the third death joke you’ve made today.”

“I am twenty-two,” He responds as if the answer is sufficient. 

“You know what, thank you so much for the information,” Terushima grins, quickly motioning for Ushijima to join him outside. “We’ll be in touch.”

Next to the door, the fresh body of a crow flutters pitifully before stilling, a small pool of blood encircling it. They stare, and Terushima whistles.

“Glad it’s a crow and not a dove or falcon, eh Wakatoshi?” He blinks, a small morbid smile forming on his lips. 

He looks back into the café, where the brunet is gathering cleaning supplies, the blood smear overlooking the seating section. Ushijima just grunts in agreement. Terushima sniffles, and turns on his heel, heading off back into town, the roads coming to him like they’re printed on the back of his hand.

“Now, why don’t we go find out where this mysterious Tanaka is?”


	16. Manhattan Skyline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a panic attack in the first part! If you don't want to read, skip from the line "Suga clamps a hand over his mouth" to the line "Is it okay if I touch you?" and I will put another note at the end with what you missed!
> 
> Chapter Song: Manhattan Skyline (feat. Einar Solberg) by Ihsahn

Suga’s had _a day._ If the murder-free nightmare wasn’t enough, the flower crown that was on his head when he woke up and the roses that’ve been manifesting at random moments certainly is. There was one in his bed, one at the bottom of his morning coffee, one in his shoe when he got dressed, and not to mention all the ones that he’s managed to find around the diner.

Kuroo found it a little worrying, Bokuto tried his best to reassure him that everything was going to be okay, and Oikawa just started putting all of the roses into a vase, naming each one “Suga Jr”. 

It’s not how he wanted his day to go, but here he is, shoveling white roses into the break room trash before anyone can notice that there’s enough flowers to become a small time florist. He pulls another one out from under his shirt and sighs, tossing it into his backpack since it’s closer. Third one since three (it’s half past now), and he still has three hours left of his shift.

Needless to say, it’s been a very stressful shift.

He steps out of the break room and stops in his tracks, staring at the fucking dynamic duo on the other side of the counter.

 _And_ the witch hunters are back. Just his goddamn luck. He’s way too tired to deal with the nerves on top of everything else, dread starting to pool in his stomach. How close are they to finding him? Finding anyone else?

“We just need to know what you saw that night. A demon, you said it was?” The taller man asks, his voice uncharacteristically impatient. “We would like to know more about your sighting.”

“Well maybe not a _demon_ , ya know?” Tanaka blows them off, waving his hand back and forth. “Could have been anything. A large bird, maybe. Mothman. It was dark.”

“We heard that you love ghost hunting, care to tell us about that?” The blond’s eye twitches, and he looks just about as tired as Suga. “I bet that’s really rewarding in a _lovely_ town like this.”

“It’s more of an amateur hobby,” Tanaka speaks through a strained smile.

“This is the first time I’ve heard you shut up about demons,” One of the chefs, Quinn, pokes her head out of the serving window with a playful scoff. “Usually he’s on and on about demon this and demon that. Glowing purple eyes and such. Just ask Nishinoya at The Hangout down the street, he’ll tell you all about what ‘attacked’ Ennoshita that night,” She holds up air quotes and laughs in Tanaka’s face, and the witch hunters mutter something to each other at the sound of Ennoshita’s name.

Suga’s head snaps towards Tanaka, eyes wide, and a hand touches his lower back, making him jump. Daichi holds a white rose out in front of his face with a short smile.

“You trying out a new fashion trend?”

Suga takes the rose, his mouth dry and half-quivering, gingerly pinching the stem between his fingers. “Maybe I am.”

“I like it,” Daichi smiles. “White roses just… I don’t know, they just fit you.”

Suga nods, trying to listen in to the conversation next to them, stomach churning.

“Purple eyes doesn’t sound like a demon,” Blondie turns to his partner. “But I think we found something else we’ve been looking for. Say, what else did you see with these purple eyes? Any defining features, anyone in town? What did they do to poor Ennoshita?”

“Nope,” Tanaka pops the ‘p’, his eyes shifting in Suga’s direction, then back to the pair. “Well, they were tall. Definitely over six feet. Dark hair.”

“Tall with dark hair,” Blondie’s eyes light up, almost starting to vibrate in his shoes. “Well, that’ll help us a bunch, thank you!”

“We should start looking,” The taller man says, already halfway out the door. “Terushima, we have work to do.”

“I’m just so…” He wipes a fake tear from his eye, almost skipping. “I’m so happy. One step closer to leaving this damn town.”

The two exit down the street, and Suga’s stomach drops. Purple eyes? Tall person with dark hair with purple eyes? As far as he knows, he’s the only person in town that _would_ have purple eyes. But Tanaka didn’t know that… did he?

 _”Interesting.”_

Suga looks around, feeling the short creep of doom trickle down his neck and spine, the voice in his head increasingly obvious not to be his own intrusive thoughts, but the lull of Other-Suga. 

Just how long has he been talking to him like this?

Suga shivers, and notices another rose manifest to his right on the counter, shrouded in a sort of black wispy smoke as he yelps and picks it up, shoving it into the trash can and out of sight.

“You feeling okay, Suga?” Daichi raises an eyebrow, trying to put a hand on Suga’s shoulder, but Suga shrugs him off.

“I’m… tired,” He lies, his stomach dropping at the feeling of another rose appearing in his pocket. They’re getting closer.

 _”Tired already, Koushi?”_ Other-Suga whispers, making the hair on Suga’s neck stand up. _”You know, the witch hunters know about purple eyes. So does Tanaka. And Ennoshita. I wonder if Ennoshita’s told Daichi yet.”_

Suga’s eyes drift over to Daichi, slowly working him over, as if he can see what Daichi knows. He wouldn't still be here if he _knew,_ right? So he can’t possibly know. Things are okay. Things are fine. 

Totally fine.

He quickly goes over to the drink fountain to get a refill for table three. Distract himself, that’s what he needs to do. He’s overly tired, he’s had a stressful day, and now the witch hunters are looking specifically for something with purple eyes. 

Eyes apparently owned by someone the complete opposite as him, but purple eyes nonetheless. His eyes. His _witch_ eyes. The witch hunters are looking for someone with his eyes.

And _has_ Ennoshita told Daichi anything? If he was attacked by someone with purple eyes around the same time his more morbid dreams started, then what did that mean? Was he in the woods that night, or somehow controlling whatever it was that did attack Ennoshita?

He looks at the rose that materializes next to him, and his stomach drops, mouth fully sapped of all its saliva. Roses don’t just pop up out of nowhere, and neither do fields of daisies, or flower crowns, or bruises on his neighbor.

He’s been going there, hasn’t he?

 _”Took you long enough, Koushi,”_ Other-Suga’s voice teases in the back of his mind, like a breathy tickle on his ear. _”I thought bringing you out to the woods wouldn’t be enough. Glad to see your reasoning isn’t fully inadequate.”_

Suga clamps a hand over his mouth, dropping the cup in his hands with a wet clatter, holding his jaw as if all his breath would spill out if he didn't keep it in place, as if he would scream if he drew his palms away.

“Suga,” Tanaka begins, and Suga presses against his face harder, his hands starting to shake against his skin. “You okay?”

Suga can’t bring himself to answer. His skin is hot, his chest too tight, the heat of it all enough to make him feel sick. It’s as if his heart and stomach are both trying to escape his body, both fluttering as his eyes dart directly towards Tanaka, whose face is scrunched up, trying to read him. The soda soaks his socks and the hem of his jeans, his hands slowly starting to pull away, eyes welling up with tears.

“I…” He croaks, almost gagging on the word.

“Suga,” Daichi pulls him into the breakroom so fast that Suga can barely register the change in his surroundings. The beading tears in his eyes do nothing to help, either, Daichi just a blurry blob in his peripheral vision as he stares at his crouching figure from the chair he’s been put into.

Was he really in the woods that night? 

And if he was, did that mean that Tanaka saw him? Nishinoya? Ennoshita? And with Ennoshita getting attacked, could it possibly, _possibly,_ have been- No. Yes.

He’s been there before. Purple eyes. He’s the only one with them.

“Suga,” Daichi snaps his fingers in front of Suga’s face, Suga’s breathing staggered, head dizzy. “Listen to me, okay? I want you to count to ten, and breathe in, can you do that for me?”

Suga stares at Daichi, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Does Daichi know? Get away. Please. For your sake, Daichi, get away.

“Please? I’ll do it too, okay?”

He stands his ground, and Suga chokes.

“Please, Suga, look at me.”

Suga strains to face him. How could he? He’s a monster. A murderer. Slowly slipping into something so dangerous he can't even register the weight of his own actions. He truly is Dark, isn’t he? Daichi deserves better. Daichi needs someone better than him. Needs to get away. 

“Hey,” Daichi snaps, and Suga convulses with his breaths, shaking his head as if it would make him disappear. “Breathe with me, Suga, please.”

Daichi starts a deep breath, and Suga tries to follow, sucking in a breath in two stages before losing it entirely, body shuddering as he squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenched. More tears fall, and Daichi tries again. 

_I don’t want to hurt you,_ he thinks like a mantra. A spell, almost. An extension of himself. He can’t hurt Daichi. He just can’t. Not like the others, not like the dreams. He can’t let himself be Dark.

“That’s fine, alright?” Daichi offers a smile, carefully watching Suga’s chest shake with every feeble inhale. “Try again, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth, you can do this.”

Suga inhales, the breath losing him halfway through Daichi’s attempt, the breath sharply exiting through his mouth. He needs to pull himself together. He can’t hurt Daichi. Daichi deserves better than to be another one of Suga’s victims, and he needs to keep his distance.

If his dreams _are_ prophetic, he knows where Daichi’s fate lays.

“I c-can’t,” Suga stutters, the breaths turning rapid, hands clenching his hair, rocking back and forth in his chair.

“Again,” Daichi orders softly, hands nearing Suga and pulling away. “Please?”

Suga shakes his head in his hands, eyes clenched, but does it anyways, the breath slow, fragmented, but he pulls it all in, holds it until his lungs burn, and huffs. He does it again, the air stuttering as Daichi breathes with him, holding every breath like it was his last, and breathing heavier in the exhale like it would purge every thought that had plagued him.

Safe. He needs Daichi to be safe. He needs Oikawa, and Bokuto, and Kuroo, and Iwaizumi, and Akaashi, and Kenma. He needs Tanaka and Nishinoya. He needs himself. He needs himself to pull it together, because-

_”They can’t do it without you, Koushi, now can they?”_

Suga’s breaths start to even out, face red and hot and wet with tears, a rogue tremble shooting through his hands in small intervals. His throat is strained, the burn in his lungs ever-present, still trying to blink away the tears.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Daichi’s hands hover a bit, and Suga nods, Daichi standing up and slowly rubbing circles into his back. “I was really hoping that breathing thing would work, it’s what I use when I have an anxiety attack, but I didn’t-”

Suga leans into him, pressing his face into Daichi’s shirt, above his apron, just to feel anything other than the cold grasp of Other-Suga that lingers on his skin. Anything other than the weight of his own actions, his situation, his life. His muscles are sore, tense, his nose snotty and eyes leaking, but the new warmth pressed against him is safe. _Safe._ In this moment, he can be safe.

He feels a small wave wash over him, feel all of his stress just flow out of his body, dissipating on contact. The tremors start to fade, and the breaths come easier. A cleanse, flowing into the air around them. A piece of himself he didn’t want, gone.

Safe.

“Hey,” Tanaka’s head pokes into the room, brow furrowed, voice carrying gentle enough to handle glass. “Suga, if you wanna go home for the day, you can. I can grind a bit until Jordan comes in for their shift.”

“Yeah,” Suga breathes, wiping his eyes and pulling away from Daichi, nodding with a heavy head. “Yeah, that’s… I’m sorry, things have been so weird for me lately, and I-” He shifts, hands outstretched and trembling in front of him, feeling another rose creep out from his sock. “I’m sorry. I think I just need some good sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

He stands up and clocks out, grabbing his bag and pulling Daichi in for a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering a thank you. 

“Whoa, Daichi,” Tanaka says, pointing. “Your nose.”

Suga takes a step back and watches as Daichi raises a hand to his nose, pulling his fingers away only to find them coated in blood. His eyes widen, and he moves to cradle the drip, searching for the towel that’s stuffed into his apron. Tanaka stares at Suga, their eyes averting each others’ gazes.

“What the hell,” Daichi murmurs, pulling the towel away to look in it, holding it back to his nose. “What…”

Suga’s throat dries again, the cold grasp lapping at his ankles, “You okay?” He shakily asks, and Daichi waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah, just a nosebleed, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later, okay?” He pulls the towel away and gives Suga a bloody smile.

“Yeah,” Suga squeaks, hurrying out of the break room as fast as he can without looking suspicious. 

He’s done it again. 

Behind him, one of his coworkers raises a hand to her face, feeling the wetness start to drip. A customer complains about their own nosebleed, then another coworker, then another customer.

He scrambles for the door and flees, reaching a hand up to his own nose, fingers slick with red and fresh tears, small white roses blooming in his tracks.

-

“You know, I was thinking,” Kuroo hums through a muffling spell, filling the shopping basket with more bags of chips, Kenma sneaking in a box of powdered donuts he had picked up when they passed by one of the weird little donut stands next to the dairy section. “The woods are controlled by the witches that died there, right?”

“Yes,” Kenma nods, frowning down at his phone. He’s been staring at this picture for days, now, ever since he found it. Mom and Dad, and their students. 

“So they confuse the people they want to confuse and lead the ones they want to lead.”

“Sure,” Kenma’s eyes dart from his phone, to Kuroo, then back down to his phone.

“Alright, what is it?” Kuroo fills the basket with pre-packaged salads from the next aisle, to balance out the chips. “You’ve been staring at your phone for, like, ten minutes and frowning,” He mimics Kenma’s frown and tries to flatten his hair, which earns a small shove.

“None of your business, frankly,” Kenma watches as Kuroo finds the donuts in the basket and rolls his eyes, taking a few steps back to grab another salad. “But if you really must know, I’m exploring my options for my birthday.”

“Don’t you only have two?” Kuroo browses through his phone, checking off his shopping list.

“I’m doing my research.”

It’s true, he has. He could go Light, could go Dark, and if he went Dark, there’s no doubt it would be difficult, The Dark Ones testing him extra thoroughly to make sure his loyalty will lay with the Dark. With the Light, he can either go into some local coven a few towns over, able to keep in easy contact with Kuroo and the rest of the coven. 

He’s been able to fit in, assimilate, the initial shock that they do _not_ do evil deeds starting to pass. Of course, Kuroo could never do something so evil. In fact, Suga had _saved_ him from a witch hunter, and the coven, while unorthodox and able to get on his nerves like nothing else, has taken him in as their own.

His other option, join the coven his parents had wanted him to join. A big coven, with connections everywhere, the coven that his parents had been in themselves before transferring to a new coven when they wanted to start a family. The one they had transferred back to when they moved to Canada, the branch spanning over the border. 

His parents had always told him it would be good for him, since they taught only the essential magic, made strong witches out of people, and all you had to do was give a little bit of yourself to the coven as a whole. Take care of them, and they’ll take care of you.

And he wants that. He wants to be accepted, to be among witches that understand his needs and wants, to honor his family’s dying wishes. Join this coven, and he’ll be free.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo rolls his eyes, waving a quick hello to some of their neighbors. “Anyways, back to me,” He smiles the most dazzling smile he can muster, and Kenma gives him a look. “The woodsy witches, let’s say we perform a spell, right? The tracking whatever that you made for Kobayashi, they’ll be able to point to the direction in which we cast spells. So, what if we cast them in a place that can’t be reached?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Kuro, just say it.”

“The woods, Kenma,” Kuroo dramatically gestures as they pass through the last aisle, Kenma sneaking in a pint of ice cream that Akaashi will no doubt eat before anyone else can get to it. “If we cast spells in the woods, the witches will make sure the hunters never find the source.”

Kenma hums and nods, adding another pint to hide from Akaashi. “That’s actually not a bad idea, coming from you.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “Why are you so mean to me today? I am nothing but nice to you.”

“It’s cause you made me package soap with you.”

“Oh come on,” Kuroo groans, moving to the self-checkout line. “Why does everyone hate packaging soap with me so much? We get to use the vacuum sealer and that’s always so fun and exciting!”

“Yeah. For pets, nerds, and old people.”

“Hey, don’t diss my vacuum sealer. Marissa is very sensitive.”

“You _named_ it?”

“Her,” Kuroo corrects, offended, scanning his items as the robotic voice screeches about putting each item in the bag. “Don’t you dare misgender her again, I will come for your kneecaps. Marissa is a she, and she will be referred to as such.”

Kenma wonders why he’s even still letting Kuroo talk about his vacuum sealer. Why he’s even still friends with someone who names their vacuum sealer. And why Marissa?

“And then there’s Timmy, the soap cutter,” Kuroo continues enthusiastically, swiping his credit card and slightly grimacing at how much he’s paying for Kenma’s junk food addiction. “And he’s lovely. Such a good boy, he works so hard.”

“You need to get out more,” Kenma cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s coming from me.”

Kuroo gives him a flat look, and Kenma grabs one of the bags, Kuroo grabbing the rest. He exits the grocery store, looking up from his phone, his eyes drifting across the street, at the pair that’s loudly bickering back and forth about directions.

He squints, the height of the first man and the blond undercut hard to miss. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, at the picture he’s been looking at the past few days, then squints back at the pair.

“That’s odd,” Kenma mutters, Kuroo following his gaze and shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh shit,” Kuroo ducks behind a line of shopping carts. “Get down.”

“What are you doing?” Kenma turns to face Kuroo. “Do you know them, too?”

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Kuroo peers out from his hiding place, his voice a hushed whisper. “And get down, Kenma.”

“Why?” Kenma looks at the pair, Ushijima and Terushima, if he remembers their names properly. 

The pair turn the corner without so much as a glance in their direction, continuing to go back and forth about where the bakery is, and they’re going in the wrong direction. 

“Fuck,” Kuroo emerges from his crouch, eyes flickering up to Kenma. “How did you know those were the witch hunters?”

Kenma’s feet go cold, his hands clenching the bag as he tilts his head. “I’m sorry?”

It’s more of a whisper than a question.

“We gotta get home, if they’re out,” Kuroo makes a grab for Kenma’s hand, but Kenma turns, avoiding Kuroo’s hands completely. “Come on, Kenma, don’t be difficult.”

“What do you mean they’re the witch hunters?” Kenma holds his phone out for Kuroo to see, eyes widened.

Kuroo’s face pales, eyes staring up at Kenma with lids carrying the weight of the world.

“We need to get home,” Kuroo rasps, orders, begs, squeaks. It’s a hoarse voice, so quiet that Kenma can barely make it out. “We _really_ need to get home.”

Kenma doesn’t budge, standing his ground with his teeth clenched and knuckles going white. “What do you mean they’re witch hunters?”

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo’s eyes soften, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Kenma.”

Kenma looks down at the photo, tears welling up in his eyes. 

His new coven, all cheerfully dressed in their white and gold robes, his parents in the center, smiling with the newest trainees. Two of which were across the street not two minutes ago.

He looks up, stomach lurching, arms dropping by his side as he feels bile bubble up in the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it, gulps, and opens it again. The words are bitter in his throat, and even worse on his tongue.

“They’re Light.”

-

Daichi is not new to nightmares. In high school, he had recurring dreams of being the only one in school, all his friends and classmates having disappeared, leaving him utterly alone. Other times, he was shoveling his own teeth out of his mouth, which apparently symbolized anxiety or something like that. His therapist told him it was the stress of feeling like he has to keep the peace, keep everyone together, and after a few sessions, the dreams lessened into occasional things. He knows how to deal with these.

When he has a rogue nightmare about Ennoshita, Asahi, or even Rin or Aoi or the twins, leaving him behind, he can clear everything up and ease his nerves with one quick call or text. Yes, he’s very familiar with _these_ nightmares.

But he’s never actively known that he was dreaming, and that’s not even the weirdest part of tonight. Anxiety attacks, nosebleeds, a newly planted and thriving white rose bush outside the diner… 

Yeah, this might as well happen.

He looks around the white forest, thick fog curling at his ankles, the trees looming overhead like opened fingers, and he’s trapped in the palm of their hands. A figure humming in the distance, a sad little song filling the forest with nothing short of melancholy.

Daichi follows, each note like a different wound, yearning for a past he’s never known.

A clearing opens ahead, leading to a small field of daisies, a hunched over figure moving around like a dancer, elegant in the motions of whatever he’s doing with a burlap sack, “You’re a little late today, dearie.”

He examines his work and chuckles, eyes flicking upwards to meet Daichi’s. His smile instantly drops, posture going rigid as the bag falls to the ground.

“Wait,” Suga looks around the clearing, face scrunched up, pointing warily. “I didn’t conjure you.”

Suga marches up to him, eyes narrowed, the image of purple eyes burning in his sockets becoming increasingly obvious as he approaches. Daichi’s heart deflates a little, remembering the “demonic” purple eyes that Tanaka and Nishinoya have been on about.

Must be his imagination, the stress of the day weighing on him.

“You must be the real one, then,” Suga mutters, examining him, picking up his arm and looking it up and down, inspecting every inch of him. “Wow, I have not been doing your legs justice when I summon you.”

“What are you talking abou-”

“Ah-” Suga holds a finger to his lips and his own lips, grinning. “Now, now, Daichi, I’m finally getting to see the real you, I want to have a little fun, okay?”

Suga removes his finger and points it at Daichi, _”Sumacorpo.”_ Daichi’s body locks up, and the purple sparkle in Suga’s eyes deepens. “Why don’t we sit down, yeah?”

“Yes,” The word falls from Daichi’s lips like it was his idea all along, and he follows Suga into the bed of flowers, lines of salt drawn into the dirt. He takes a seat in the center, and Suga works around him.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Daichi, I’m a bit bored,” Daichi’s mouth is clamped shut, and Suga continues. “I’m not just haunting your dreams! I’m a very busy guy. But you know what I don’t understand? Why I’m here with you. I mean, I’m not complaining, but this is such a surprise! I’m rather embarrassed that I couldn’t do something more than making salt circles.”

He snaps his fingers, his clothes melting into a regency shirt and high waisted black pants, a pitch black pentagram shamelessly poking out from behind the thin fabric. 

“I look great, don’t I?” He spins around, making sure to poke out his hips, giving a little wiggle. “I’m sure you’d love to see Koushi in something like this. I know for a fact he could make it work.” He gestures to himself, and picks up a burlap bag, continuing his work with the salt lines.

Daichi opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out, and Suga continues. 

“He must have pushed a little of his mind into yours. Has he been emotional lately? Anything that would make him want to give himself to you?” He continues before Daichi can answer. “Anyways, I’m glad you’re here, there’s some important things I wanted to talk to you about, since poor little Koushi is just always too eager to get his dreams over with, and I’m rather lonely. Shame, that he doesn't like spending time with me,” He eyes Daichi. “You can speak now.”

Daichi sucks in a breath of fresh air. “What the hell is happening? I’m dreaming, right?”

“Oh, hail,” Suga presses a palm to his face, lovingly looking at Daichi. “You’re smarter than I thought, that’s great! Yes,” He boops Daichi’s nose. “This is all a dream, nothing to worry about at all. Just a silly little nightmare that’ll mean nothing when you wake up. I mean, unless you _want_ it to mean something. I’ll let you decide which one is better for you.”

Suga drops to his knees in front of Daichi to meet his eyes, and settles into a comfortable position. 

“Now, you want Koushi to be safe. I want Koushi to be safe. We share a common goal, correct?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Daichi furrows his brow. 

Yep, definitely the weirdest dream he’s had.

“Good,” Suga smiles. “So, I want you to do something for me okay? A favor, if you will.”

“I don’t-”

“He’s young,” Suga cuts him off, Daichi shooting a glare. “He’ll say it first. Young, dumb, and very naive. When he does say it, I want you to remember this little conversation. You care about Koushi, I care about Koushi, and that’s enough to warrant me asking this of you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Suga grins. “You will. Just like he will one day. He’s strong, like me, but that was always to be expected, I figure,” His grin turns fond, picking at his fingernails. “It’s easy to forget that he is his own person, though. And a fickle one at that. Determined. He’s… definitely what I was looking for, all those years ago. Stronger than I have ever been or will ever be. And you’ll have to forgive me, using your likeness to strengthen him further, and for selfish curiosity of what would happen that night with your roommate.”

Daichi stares at the man before him, eyes purple, dark pentagram on full display. This man… is not Koushi. Not _his_ Suga. Dream Suga, perhaps, one that only exists within his head. But most definitely not the one he’s come to l-

Daichi gulps.

“I like you, Daichi,” Suga meets his eyes, propping himself on his elbow. “I really do. You remind me of… well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” He scoffs, memories of a better time tracing his lips. “So take care of him for me. He’s rather terrified of outsiders, by nature, and I would never blame him for it. He is too caught up in the ‘what if’s’ and not ‘what is’. You see me like this, and I see that you are not scared. You know that this is me, and that he is he. And for that, I approve.”

Daichi purses his lips, looking down at the daisies. “Thank you.”

The two sit in silence, Suga drawing little lines into the dirt. Daichi bites the bullet, bites the question burning in the back of his mind.

“Are you a demon?”

Suga laughs, airy, the same laugh as his Suga, “I think I’m… somewhere in between. Not quite human, not quite demon. A ghost, maybe, caught between two worlds. I’m as real as you are, but most of the time I’m only as real as a bad dream,” His lips twitch upwards. “It’s rather… lonely, I think. Even though I’m never alone,” He gestures around the woods, nine crows perched on the branches, watching stiffly over them.

“What song were you singing?”

“Hm?” Suga’s brow furrows, and his finger stills in the dirt. 

“The song you were humming, what was it?”

Suga blows air out of his nose, and frowns, quickly shifting into the most genuine melancholy smile Daichi’s ever seen, and it breaks his heart to see it on such a beautiful face. “He named it ‘Precious June’.”

Suga slowly stands up and brushes off his pants, stretching in the same way his Suga does, arms above his head, eyes squeezed shut, a small grunt leaving his chest. His eyes glaze over, and he turns to the salt, picking it up and heaving it over his shoulder.

“I think you two will soon have much to talk about, and talk even sooner with those closer to you. Oh, and don’t worry about getting back, I’ll see to it you get back safely, for Koushi’s pitiful sake.”

Before Daichi can ask what _any_ of that means, like every other sentence that’s been said, his eyes snap open, staring up at the starry sky. A small breeze rustles the plant life around his head, the scent of summer surrounding him like a thick blanket. He sits upright, hands pressed into the daisies, with no traces of salt in the light of the moon.

His heart skips, and he whips his head around, eyes finding a hazy light in the distance. It’s yellow and warm, a fuzzy glow that forces him to step forward, step forward again, walking a short distance like he was always meant to find the light. 

A light that feels and looks like home.

Then, a porch light, with two flashlights waving around, followed by worried voices.

“He’s probably just with Suga still, they had dinner tonight,” Asahi’s voice is tight. “You know, they’ve been developing as a couple. We can’t rule out that he’s, uh, _with_ Suga right now.”

“I saw him drop Suga off, he definitely came home,” Ennoshita counters.

“Well he didn’t just disappear.”

“I know that! But I just… these woods. I’m worried.”

“I’m fine,” Daichi emerges from the woods, Asahi jumping so hard he drops his phone.

“Oh, what the _hell_ Daichi?” Ennoshita runs up to him and pulls him into a breathtaking hug, Asahi pulling them both inside so as to not disturb the neighbors. “It’s four in the morning, and we heard the door slam. Where were you?”

“You can’t go running off like that,” Asahi frowns. “Especially after such a bad nosebleed today, you might be sick.”

“I don’t think so,” Daichi frowns, moving around the dining room table, voice low enough to suck all the air out of the room.

Daichi stares at them as he sits down, jaw clenched. Ennoshita looks at Asahi, and Asahi looks at Daichi. Daichi folds his dirtied hands out in front of him, resting them on the table, eyes pointed directly at Ennoshita.

“So,” He begins. “When were you going to tell me that Suga was the one who attacked you?”

Ennoshita sputters for an answer, and Asahi just puts a firm hand on Ennoshita’s shoulder. Ennoshita hangs his head, nods, and takes a seat. Asahi joins them, and Ennoshita bites his lip, eyes shifting between them.

“Daichi,” He licks his lips, sniffling as if the air would give him confidence. “There’s something about me you should know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kronk voice* Oh yeah. It's all coming together.
> 
> What you missed if you skipped the panic attack: Suga gets overwhelmed with the roses, the lack of sleep, the witch hunters, and then the realization that he hurt Ennoshita, and says he doesn't want to end up hurting (or killing) Daichi. Daichi helps him with a breathing exercise, and Suga decides that he wants to keep everyone he loves safe and that he feels safe when he's with Daichi.
> 
> And woohoo! Last chapter of 2020! Goodbye hell year.


	17. Unbelievers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my next semester at college starts next Monday, I'll be switching back to the update schedule I had before December, which is trying to update one chapter a week, anywhere between Friday and Monday. Thank you all for understanding! 
> 
> Chapter Song: Unbelievers by Vampire Weekend

Daichi doesn’t know what to believe anymore, not after the past day or so. His roommate is a witch hunter, his boss is right for once, his neighbors are probably in a cult, and his boyfriend _might_ be a violent demon. 

He’s really holding onto that _might._

Daichi side eyes Suga as he refills the drinks for table ten, looking considerably more well rested than he has been lately. He should be happy for Suga, but for all he knows, it’s an illusion caused by whatever demons do to fulfill themselves. He’s a bit brighter, small glimmers of life returned to his sunken eyes, drinking “tea” from a water bottle that smells absolutely horrible, earthy tones just seeping out of the container.

Something about Kuroo’s secret recipe for healing tea, but the scent of star anise was enough to turn Daichi off of going near the foul concoction. It’s more of a rotten potion than anything.

No, what is he thinking? He’s definitely not a demon. Demons don’t exist, and if it really was Suga in the woods that night, and Ennoshita swears up and down that it had been, it’s more likely that Suga was just having some sort of bad trip. Maybe. Even though Suga's been very outwardly against drugs ever since he said Kuroo and Bokuto were banned from smoking “herbs” on their back porch. No, not drugs, but there has to be another explanation, right?

“Hey,” Suga speaks into his ear, hot breath rolling across his neck, and Daichi flinches. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” He laughs, wrapping his arms around Daichi in a quick hug, a small kiss pressed against his cheek, Suga’s breath turning into layers of faint cinnamon and sage. “I’m off, take care, okay? And eat something. You look a little… pale today.”

“I will,” Daichi nods, rolling his shoulders and giving Suga a confirmation nod. “And you, too, you look more well rested. Goodnight, Suga, hope you sleep well.”

“That’s the plan,” Suga sleepily smiles, exiting the diner with a small wave, unlocking his bike from the rack.

Daichi breathes a little easier, watching him pedal away, as much as he hates to admit it. There’s something about the dream, something about the urgency in Ennoshita and Asahi’s voices as they explained everything in detail. There’s _something_ up with Suga. There always has been. 

This was the Suga he’s always known, ever since he came crashing into his arms on that very bike. Which means that a) this “demon Suga” is very good at hiding the fact that he replaced the real one, b) he’s absolutely crazy to believe something as odd as Ennoshita saying “Suga said he was a demon and tried to kill me in the woods one night”, or c) he’s _not_ crazy, and this is what Suga’s been the whole time.

The scariest thing is that he’s leaning towards option c. 

That Suga’s _always_ been this person, hiding it from him. But from what he’s come to learn, Suga isn’t _evil._ Far from it. It’s the one thing he’s absolutely sure of, that the Suga he knows, demon or not, never has been and never will be evil. It’s why he can’t believe that this Suga is the same one that may have attacked Ennoshita that night, or the one haunting his dreams. 

Suga’s many things. He’s caring, mainly, but anyone can gather that from the way he composes himself, admirable in the way that despite everything he carries himself to live for others. He’s also way too sarcastic for his own good, but somehow people never expect it from him, his silver tongue on par with Oikawa or Akaashi or a very stressed out Asahi. And he’s mischievous, in ways that Daichi never expected, but are wholly endearing. He never expected Suga to be the one to initiate most of the things they’ve done, whether it be holding hands, kissing, or more, but he knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to chase after them. He’s many things, some of them kind and caring, others a little more dark and hidden, but he’s Suga.

And Suga isn’t evil.

An hour passes quickly as he cleans off the tables, and soon the only customer left after closing is Nishinoya, all of the cooks having cleaned and fled the premises, the waiters collecting their tips and bolting out of the restaurant until Daichi’s left alone with the source of his recent headaches.

“So,” Tanaka leans over the counter. “What are we doing next? Are we still trailing those two dudes?”

Nishinoya flips through his notebook, which Daichi has learned never leads to anything good, “We should try the woods again, and yes. Yesterday I learned that the big one might have a crush on Tendou, and that alone terrifies me. But yes, the woods, that’s a great idea.”

Tanaka’s eyes drift to Daichi, and quickly avert when they make eye contact.

“But more importantly,” Nishinoya clicks a pen. “The nosebleeds started up again. We need to talk about that and what that might mean.”

“Yeah,” Tanaka breathes, eyes darting back and forth between Daichi and Nishinoya. “Probably just dry in here or something. It’s completely normal to get mass nosebleeds.”

Nishinoya shakes his leg impatiently, mouth pressed into an unamused line.

“But you said it happened right after Suga left! That’s another weird instance to add,” He points to a part of the notebook dedicated to Suga.

“Noya, is this really the best time to discuss this?” Tanaka whisper-yells, hiding the book from Daichi’s view.

Alright, they’re totally hiding something from him. 

Nishinoya looks over his shoulder at Daichi, “Hey, Daichi, you know Suga a bit more now. What do you think about the whole thing?”

“Hey-” Tanaka protests, Daichi slinging a towel over his shoulder.

“It’s strange,” Daichi simply puts, jaw tight. “I’ll admit that there’s… something weird with Suga. With his roommates. Always has been. I can’t deny it anymore.”

Tanaka breathes, and leans on the counter, eyes shifting between two emotions that Daichi can’t quite place. Fear? Concern? Necessity? Or just plain caution? Tanaka continues slowly, “Daichi, you know that we went into the woods with Ennoshita, right? There’s something we probably need to tell you.”

“That it was Suga who attacked him?” Daichi surmises flatly, taking a seat next to Nishinoya. 

Well, no going back now. Not like he wants to, he needs answers, and Suga’s obviously not going to give them.

Tanaka stares like he’s bitten into a lemon, and Nishinoya looks up at him, eyes sparkling with wonder, a stupid grin forming on his lips. He almost looks ravenous, hungry for more information.

“How did you-” Tanaka squints.

“Ennoshita.”

“Ennoshita,” Tanaka repeats like a curse, looking down at his creme soda. “I should have known. So, how…” He licks his lips, eyes piercing through Daichi’s nerves. “How are you holding up?”

“Well,” Daichi’s lips twitch. “I found out my boyfriend might be a demon.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Tanaka quotes, and Nishinoya loses a fight to stifle a laugh. “But I’m glad we’re all on the same page. And I think you can agree that Suga wouldn't just attack someone.”

“Right,” Daichi agrees, but it comes out as more of a question than he wants it to. 

No, Suga wouldn't. But he still isn't sold on the fact that it was _really_ Suga. The memory of violet eyes flicker in the back of his head like a faulty wire. 

“Alright, good man,” Nishinoya slaps a hand on Daichi’s back, a sharp sting spreading across his skin and prickling down his spine. “We’ve been trying to track down anything else in the woods that might help us find the truth. It’s been rough, and it’s been exhausting, but I think we’re getting close to something. The nosebleeds are definitely evidence!”

A slow, calm sort of rage starts to build in the back of Daichi’s mind. What would Suga think if he knew that his friends were stalking him? Trying to learn whatever they could from mere observation?

“Have you ever, I don’t know,” Daichi scowls. “Tried asking Suga what’s going on?”

Tanaka and Nishinoya look at each other, then turn to Daichi in such blank and perfect unison that Daichi almost shivers. 

“Have you?”

Daichi sinks in on himself, pursing his lips. He wants to, more than anything. It’s not like he didn’t have the time to ask today, but with everyone around, and Suga looking better after being so spent and exhausted, no time ever felt right. At least now he has some semblance of an idea as to why Suga’s been so out of it lately. 

Their communication hasn’t always been the best, but if this is anything to prompt a conversation, Daichi’s all for it. He wants to be a good boyfriend to Suga, no matter the cost, and he hopes deep in his heart that Suga cares about him the same way.

“Alright, what clues have you been looking for?” Daichi dodges the question, and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, thought so,” Nishinoya grumbles under his breath, flattening his notebook. “Alright, so this year, Suga’s been weird ever since his birthday, said he was going camping and that all of his other roommates also went on these camping trips on their twenty-firsts.”

“And it took forever for us to actually properly meet them,” Tanaka adds. “Like he was scared of his worlds colliding.”

“Right. So we can assume that there’s something weird with all of them.”

“Ennoshita said that demons are summoned by witches,” Daichi idly mutters, and the pair turn to look at him again, Daichi fighting off another shiver. “What if, and this is a big if, they’re witches?”

“You don't actually believe the witch thing, do you?”

“With all the metaphysical bookstores popping up,” Daichi thinks back to the crystal shop he went to with Aoi when he last visited home. “I’m more inclined to believe it than you and Ennoshita’s theory that the house is infested with demons.”

“Dude, have you _met_ Oikawa? I’m pretty sure he sucks out people’s souls for fun.”

Alright, there _might_ be a demon infestation.

“Why did Ennoshita say that witches are involved?” Nishinoya’s eyebrows knit together.

“Something about how he was raised by witch hunters-”

“He WHAT?” Tanaka slams his hands down on the table, giving Nishinoya a completely flabbergasted look. “Noya! He was holding out on us!”

“Raised by witch hunters? That’s so cool!”

Daichi blinks, and waits for them to calm down. They high five, and add a whole section to the notebook, Ennoshita’s name written in block letters that take up a whole page, prompt underlined three times with a trail of exclamation marks.

“But you don't even believe in witches.”

“Neither do you, but here we are,” Nishinoya points to his new note. “Talking about demons, witches, witch hunters, and how we’re definitely taking you on our next hunt.”

Daichi groans. He shouldn’t have offered to be the one to stay behind to wipe off the tables. He should be in bed, should be texting Suga goodnight and texting Kuroo to make sure that Suga isn’t lying to him about going to bed on time, should be planning out his next date.

But if there’s anything he’s learned about living in Claremont, it’s that nothing ever goes according to plan.

He wants answers. He wants to talk to Suga, to his roommates, to his boss. He wants to know why this town is so odd, why everything seems to surface level. Most of all, he wants people to stop hiding things from him. 

“Wait, so if Ennoshita is a witch hunter, and they might be witches, isn’t it kinda dangerous to, you know, mix everyone together?” Tanaka interlocks his fingers for effect.

“You know what I noticed?” Nishinoya taps the pen to his chin, drawing small lines on his jaw. “There’s two men looking for Kobayashi. Kobayashi said he hunted witches, then he died.”

The room freezes, air hanging heavy and clinging to his skin. It wisps out like a fog, unfurled and dense, licking up his arms and under his shirt. 

“You don’t seriously think…” Tanaka continues cautiously.

“I mean, we don’t know,” Nishinoya frowns.

“But come on, man, this is Suga we’re talking about. The dude who blasts Gorillaz and Arctic Monkeys because he thinks it makes him look cooler.”

Nishinoya considers this, and notices Daichi’s horrified expression. “Oh come on, Daichi, it’s not like we’re _actually_ considering whether or not Suga killed someone! If Suga was going to kill someone, it would be Tanaka or the pigeon that keeps pecking his leg when he sits on the bench outside.”

“Wait why me-” Tanaka turns his head at the sound of his name, and Nishinoya jumps back in.

“It’s not like Suga’s dangerous, you know? No matter the outcome, I care about Suga, you care about Suga, and we share a common interest, yeah?”

The words ring in Daichi’s ears, his mind replaying his dream. His throat dries, tongue too big for his mouth to speak, so he just nods, and stands back up to wipe down the counters. Next time he sees Suga, he’s going to get answers. He’s sure of it. The memory rattles in his brain like a game of ping pong, violet eyes increasingly prominent.

Maybe dream Suga was right. And if he is, then what was Suga going to say first?

-

“I’m gonna have the fucking cheesiest nachos,” Suga says to himself, sprinkling an ungodly amount of shredded cheddar onto a messy stack of tortilla chips. “I am so hungry, and I deserve these.”

“I want some, save me some,” Bokuto watches Suga add more cheese to the mountain, shuffling the tarot cards in his hands, Akaashi using Bokuto’s phone to scroll through his twitter feed. Suga doesn't react, and Bokuto tries again. “Make sure you make enough for me.”

“I know, Bo, just… let me enjoy the beauty of it. I’ll be one with the cheese,” Suga rambles, drooling over his masterpiece before sticking it in the oven, watching it in the oven window. “I’m trying to force myself into a cheese coma, and hopefully I can get another good night of sleep.”

“I hope so too,” Bokuto smiles, turning to Akaashi, who’s found himself on some gamer’s page. It’s not a lie, hoping Suga gets another night of restful sleep. He had woken up without any issues, no new nightmares, no residual roses to go with the bouquet on the table, no nothing. He was actually fine today, and things are finally looking up. “Okay, so I’m going to lay these out on the table, and you just need to pick the one that speaks to you.”

“Make sure to have him think of specifics,” Oikawa calls from the other room, over the sound of some low budget 80’s horror movie. A lady screams in the distance, followed by the sound of a chainsaw, wet whirring with more gargled and overly exaggerated screaming, and finally, Iwaizumi's laughter. 

“But think about a specific question first!” Bokuto adds, spreading the tarot cards out with one hand, Suga plopping down in the chair across from him, propped up on his elbows, hands squishing his cheeks up to his eyes.

“Single card readings?” He surmises, and Bokuto nods as Akaashi puts the phone down and singles out one card with his index finger.

“This one,” Akaashi says with finality.

“I’m trying to get better at reading them, and I think it would be better to start small,” Bokuto explains to Suga, picking up the card. “You’re thinking of your question, right, Akaashi?”

“Yep,” Akaashi leans on his elbow, and Bokuto turns the card over.

“Ah,” Bokuto looks at the roman numeral and the photo of the holy man, trying to remember what the card is. “I think that’s… the Hierophant?”

He shows Suga, and Suga nods. Bokuto pumps his fist in the air happily, bringing his hand down to his grimoire.

“Okay, cool, so, uh, the Hierophant. That means…” Bokuto flips forward through the short chapters, flips back a few pages, and then runs his finger along the lines of text. “Ah! Okay, the Hierophant means marriage.”

Akaashi chokes on a cough.

“Oh, wait, uh, maybe,” Bokuto reads the next line. “Oh, it also means servitude and commitment. And sometimes binding contracts. Well, I guess that makes sense, since you’re a demon and all. It mostly represents following tradition and traditional beliefs, though, whatever that means. So, from what I understand, this means you’ll either get married, enter a contract, or fulfill some tradition. Does any of that fit your question?”

“Uh,” Akaashi stares, the red of his irises peeking out as his eyes narrow. The pupils dart back and forth, his posture shifting. “Kinda?”

“I’ll take that as a win,” Bokuto beams, putting the card back in the deck and shuffling again, holding them out to Suga. “Wanna have a go?”

“Sure,” Suga mumbles into his hand, Bokuto spreading out the cards for him. Suga gingerly picks one out, and holds it up, face falling. “Ah, fuck.”

He spins it around for Bokuto to see, the High Priestess giving him a somber smile.

“Oh, so,” Bokuto runs his lines over the text. “High Priestess, that’s good, right? Listening to intuition rather your conscious mind, patience in intimacy, yeah, that’s definitely you, and being honest so as to let your hidden trifles surface,” He smiles, happy that Suga would get something so sweet.

“Bokuto, it’s upside down for me,” Suga lays the card down, mouth puckered.

“And a trifle is a dessert,” Akaashi’s face scrunches up in confusion. 

“Oh,” Bokuto’s frown wipes off his face, and he turns the page. “Inverted High Priestess. Hiding your true self from your loved ones, resentment from dishonesty, keeping secrets… I mean, it’s not wrong, is it?”

Suga isn’t amused, and gets up to check on his nachos. Bokuto can only guess what Suga’s question had been, but there’s something that tells him that he doesn’t need to think too hard about it. Next to him, Oikawa and Iwaizumi slink into the room, Oikawa giving a lazy smile as he flutters his eyelashes at Bokuto, just begging for a free read.

“Kou, have I ever told you that you’re my favorite in the whole co-” Oikawa’s voice drips like honey, and Iwaizumi squeezes his shoulder.

“Okay, fine, I’ll do everyone’s readings tonight, then,” Bokuto rolls his eyes, but smiles. “And yes, I’m everyone’s favorite, I thought we decided that in our last meeting.”

“Practice makes perfect, after all,” Oikawa says, no one denying the last part. "And perfection is always key."

“Yeah, and can you read tarot cards, Mister Perfect?” Akaashi chimes.

“Oh hush, Akaashi, don’t take sides unless it’s mine.”

“You know, I didn't know witches actually used these,” Iwaizumi ignores the mess that is Oikawa being Oikawa and picks up one of the minor arcana cards that Bokuto hasn’t bothered to touch yet. He mutters something about it being creepy, and puts it back. “I mean, we sell these at the bookstore.”

“It’s something even mortals can learn to read,” Oikawa explains, picking out one card from the line Bokuto’s laid out for him. “It’s all about the earth making sure the card you need is right where you can choose it. Also, I want to know if Kenma will be okay.”

“That’s… oddly caring for you,” Suga teases from across the room, flipping his tray around and sticking it back in the oven.

“Hey, I can be nice,” Oikawa scowls, looking around the room at everyone's faces. “Hey! I am a nice person, you all just make me out to be the enemy! And my question is more about what’s going to happen with those two annoying witch hunters that Makki stupidly sent to your bald friend.”

“Oh, so you’re an asshole,” Iwaizumi nudges him, mocking him with a face that makes Suga snort. "I'm a nice person."

“No! I am not an ass...” Oikawa recoils in on himself, and rubs his arm. “I just… Kenma’s been in Kuroo’s room all day and…” He murmurs the last part, only Iwaizumi and Bokuto close enough to fully hear him. “I can hear him crying through the walls,” He pushes the card to Bokuto, hiding his frown behind his attempt to look nonchalant, forehead creasing. “So. You know.”

“He just found out his parents and future coven were working with witch hunters and one went rogue,” Suga adds more cheese to his nachos, the amount now somewhat absurd. “I’d be crying, too.”

The room gets tense, Akaashi’s tail swishing nervously as Suga and Oikawa avoid eye contact. Bokuto sucks in a breath, sighs, and breaks the silence. It’s been tense ever since they found out that the pair were more than just witch hunters, and more so that the Light would be as despicable to work with people as foul as the hunters.

Kenma must be taking it pretty hard, especially since his parents might have been partners with Kobayashi prior to their murder. It would explain why he left Kenma alive, unable to take a child like his own was taken, according to the photos Suga found in his house when they were cleaning up and the death ad that ran in the newspaper. He was a father, once, but Suga took the life of a lonely man.

Hopefully this card will help them get the upper hand. His fingers twitch as he reaches for the card, holding his breath as he turns it over. 

“Oh.”

“What? What’s ‘oh’?” Oikawa cranes his neck, trying to look. “What did I get? Is it bad?”

Bokuto shows him, and Oikawa seethes, eyes flickering blue for sometime less than a second. “Fucking Devil. What the hell does the Devil have anything to do with the witch hunters? What? Is Baphomet going to just burst in like the kool-aid man and fix things? Iwa,” He pushes Iwaizumi closer. “Your turn, I’m angry.”

Bokuto looks in the grimoire as he shuffles, the only word next to his entry for “Devil” that of “equilibrium”. Makes sense, he figures. The Light to their Dark, maybe it was a balance that was always meant to come to pass.

Iwaizumi draws a card, “I want to know who’s going to win the NBA.”

“Oh, come on, Iwa,” Oikawa hits him. “A real question.”

“Wait,” Bokuto stops him. “Let him talk, he might have a point.”

“Himbos,” Oikawa shakes his head, Akaashi chuckling next to Bokuto, a soft sound. Lovely, even. “Both of you.”

“But you love us,” Iwaizumi gives a sly smile, and Oikawa pushes him away, a smile tracing his lips.

“Okay, fine,” Iwaizumi rubs his neck, leaning in past Oikawa. “What am I going to be doing this weekend? That's not against the rules, is it?”

“Hopefully you won't be working,” Oikawa runs his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair. “You’ve been working too hard ever since the trip. You need time to relax.”

“You’d want the four of swords,” Suga says over his shoulder, pulling his food out of the oven, the smell of hot cheese and tomato filling the air. For someone who doesn't drink much, Suga's surprisingly good at making hangover food. “Or if Bokuto’s only doing the major, the lovers. Balance and choice.”

Bokuto takes the card, flips it over, and frowns. Well that can’t be right. He sets it back down on its face and looks through the deck. He shuffled, no one else touched this, and sure enough, they’re all major arcana. All twenty-two, still in the stack. He stares at Iwaizumi’s card again, and Oikawa clears his throat. 

“You look troubled, what is it?” Oikawa leans on his hand, eyes pointed in evident worry. Iwaizumi is trying his best not to look curious, or scared, by extent, and Bokuto flips the card to show the ten of swords.

“Well how did that get in there?” Akaashi looks over Bokuto’s shoulder. “That’s minor, right?”

“That’s the one I was just looking at,” Iwaizumi apologizes. “Must have slipped in somehow when I put it back on this deck over here,” He points to the other deck, sitting on the other side of the table. “Here, I’ll draw another-”

Suga’s hand wraps around Iwaizumi’s arm, eyes wide and mouth taut. He grabs the ten of swords, eyes moving over it like it’s not real, flipping it back and forth with increasing hesitance. He puts it back on the table, and takes a step away from Iwaizumi, a small sigh pushing from his lungs. “You drew it for a reason, Iwa, cards don't just randomly switch decks.”

“I don’t know how to read the minor,” Bokuto flips through his grimoire for answers. “But with the way this dude got acupunctured,” He points to the dead man on the card. “I don’t think he’s having a great time.”

Suga clears his throat. “It’s, uh, well, it’s a card of suffering,” Suga puts a hand on his neck, and Iwaizumi blanks. “Betrayal from who you love most, and painful ends and loss,” He reads Iwaizumi’s expression, and quickly picks the card back up, pointing in the background enthusiastically. “But there’s a very peaceful sea in the background! Even in suffering there is serenity?”

It doesn’t seem to calm him, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa start bickering about the tarot read. Kuroo even manages to poke his head in to tell them that Kenma’s finally sleeping in time to watch the scene unfold, and Bokuto’s phone rings. He excuses himself from the chaos, and takes the call from Konoha.

“Hey, Konoha,” He breathes, entering Kuroo’s soap room for privacy.

“‘Sup Bo, how’s your night?”

“Doing tarot readings, and it could be better. You?”

“Nothing much, just cursing the telemarketer that keeps calling me,” Bokuto can hear his grin, and Konoha continues. “But hey, listen, that’s not the reason I called. That potion you were looking for. The glamour one? I think I found it.”

Bokuto fumbles for a piece of paper and a pen, and lets Konoha speak. His eyes go wide, and his mouth dries. Life never seems to be easy for them, is it?

-

Iwaizumi angrily chews on a tortilla chip, everything having calmed down a bit once the food was served and shut everyone up. It also helped that Oikawa looked it up on his phone, and the tarot card he got isn’t some terrible omen, and could mean that this weekend, something is going to end. Could be something small, could be nothing, but his hair still stands on end.

His shift at work could get cut short, a rumor spreading about him, and represents change more than anything. New life, as he put it. 

He’s still tense, though. Hanging around Dark witches probably wasn’t the best idea when he found out, but it brought him the best thing to ever happen to him, so he doesn’t mind a little Darkness every now and then.

And maybe it’s just Oikawa being overdramatic like usual. All he’s been exposed to is an attack from a nightmare, which could happen to anyone, really, and was made immortal, which is probably more of a blessing than a curse. What is a painful end to someone with immortality? His muscles heal faster after his workouts, that spot on his back doesn’t hurt anymore, and he has a guaranteed two extra years to do anything he wants. He could get his masters’ degree and not worry about wasting any time.

“So,” Suga shovels chips into his mouth, eyeing Akaashi. “What was your question?”

“What was yours?” Akaashi counters tartly.

“What my dreams mean,” Suga answers honestly, everyone making a grab for the food in the center, the amount dwindling quickly. “But the High Priestess is kind of like a giant eff you to the fact that I haven’t told Daichi.”

“Hm,” Akaashi sighs, grabbing the chip Oikawa’s reaching for. Oikawa narrows his eyes, and reaches for another, only for Kuroo to nab it first. He hands Oikawa the chip in his hand, and grabs another. “I didn't think you’d be so honest.”

Suga shrugs, “We benefit nothing from secrets.”

Akaashi sighs, and Iwaizumi can only imagine what someone as quiet and reserved and _powerful_ as Akaashi could possibly need guidance on. From what he’s gathered, Akaashi’s some crazy powerful and terrifying demon, capable of mass destruction and the cause of a lot of loss.

What could it have been? When he’s finally free to reign terror? When he’s going to eat everyone in the coven?

“I…” Akaashi fidgets. “I wanted to know how my contract with Bokuto would go.”

The room is silent all of three seconds before Suga starts laughing, “And you got the holy matrimony card?”

“Shut up,” Akaashi mumbles, grabbing the last chip out of Suga’s hand, much to the latter’s dismay. Iwaizumi hands Suga the chip in his hand, and Suga holds his hand up in decline.

“I’m sorry,” Suga smiles. “I just find it funny. It’s more of a commitment card, which makes more sense. Devoting yourself to him, it’s fitting.”

“Because I’m a demon,” Akaashi nods, and Suga scans over Akaashi with his eyes.

“Yeah,” Suga agrees tartly, eyes squinted knowingly above his smile. “Because of the contract.”

Oikawa leans forward next to him, eyes pointed at Kuroo.

“How’s sleeping beauty upstairs?”

Kuroo blows air out of his cheeks and shakes his head, “Terrible.”

Everyone nods grimly, and Iwaizumi follows. It must be awful, finding out that you almost joined the organization that tortured you. Kenma’s a nice kid, he doesn't deserve everything that’s happened this past year, but at least he has Kuroo. 

If he didn’t have Oikawa, he’s not sure how he would have coped with a few of the things that’s happened. The death of his grandmother, graduating college, almost getting fired from his job for dressing the way he does before his ratty ex-manager’s house burned down under mysterious circumstances-

He’ll have to ask Oikawa about that last one later.

He couldn’t have done any of it without Oikawa. And he’s told Oikawa he’s loved him many times before, but the words just aren't enough for him. He’s absolutely smitten, head over heels, so deeply in love that he can’t even see straight anymore, his heart pounding like the first time he ever laid eyes on him every time Oikawa says his name. He’d never say it directly, but that’s not his love language, and Oikawa knows that better than anyone.

“Iwa,” Oikawa snaps his fingers in front of his face and he breaks from his trance, staring expectantly.

“What,” Iwaizumi responds, voice almost hoarse, and Oikawa softly thumps his head. 

“I asked if you wanted to stay the night or if you were going back home.”

“He practically lives here now,” Suga snorts. “I even started sorting his laundry into its own pile.”

“You did my laundry?” Iwaizumi wonders aloud, but no one rewards it with an answer. Instead, a frantic Bokuto re-enters the room, plopping down on the chair across from him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but looks at the empty tray, anger boiling behind his pupils. “You didn’t save any for me?”

“You walked out, man,” Suga happily pats his stomach. “Your fault.”

“Dammit,” Bokuto lets out a frustrated sigh, looking at the folded paper in front of him. “Okay, no, that’s not important right now. Konoha just called about that super strong glamour potion.”

“Oh?” Kuroo chimes in, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “And?”

“Well,” Bokuto tries to smile, but it’s more of a nervous grimace. “I have good news, bad news, more good news, and more bad news.”

Everyone holds their breath. But at least there’s an equal amount of good news.

“Well,” Oikawa and Suga start at the same time, Suga dropping out to let Oikawa speak. “What’s the bad news?”

“The first bad news or the second bad news?”

“What’s going to make me want to vomit more?”

“Don’t you mean less?” Kuroo utters.

“No, rip the bandaid off,” Oikawa shakes his head. “What’s the worst news?”

“Well,” Bokuto looks at the paper. “We need about a gallon of homogenous human blood.”

Iwaizumi’s never felt a room get so cold in such little time. Sure, he’s been in a room where you could hear a pin drop, but the onslaught of shock permeates thickly, his legs starting to bounce with anticipation. It sounds terrifying.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s Suga that speaks, bringing a hand up to massage his temples. “No. We are not doing anything that involves that much blood.”

“Well, we could,” All heads turn to face Kuroo, but he cuts himself off. “Well, why don’t we-” His mouth twitches. “Fuck.”

“What’s the good news?” Akaashi tries, looking as equally confused as Iwaizumi feels.

“It’s entirely foolproof. A glamour spell that works for a month and yields almost perfect results.”

Suga groans, and rests his head on the table. “That’s too good to pass up. Konoha didn’t say anything about any other potion?”

“Well that’s the other bad news,” Bokuto frowns. “It’s a ritual and a potion. It’s why it took him so long to find, since it wasn’t entirely his area of expertise.”

“You’re telling me that you want us to do a ritual involving a gallon of human blood?” Oikawa says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah?” Bokuto scratches his neck. “Wait, no, I was wrong," The room breathes a little easier. "That was the other good news. The other bad news is that you drink the potion.”

Kuroo’s head slams down on the table in utter despair, and Suga makes some sort of animalistic noise.

“Okay,” Oikawa tries to rationalize. “Okay, so let’s say we do go with the crazy ritual, what do we get out of it?”

“Uh,” Bokuto looks at the paper. “It works for a month, it’s almost perfect, but the effect is a little weird. It’s more of a reset potion, rather than a glamour. It’s why it works so well, and it’s been used by generations of witches to avoid persecution,” He continues, passing the paper around for everyone to look. “It’s an assimilation spell, make us more mortal than nonmortal. Konoha said it’s like being an underage witch again, no mark, magic is limited but not gone, and the spells would be so weak that they can’t be easily tracked.”

Everyone starts to exchange glances, worry, disgust, and acceptance all making their rounds. The paper reaches Iwaizumi, and he looks over the recipe and instructions, Oikawa leaning over his shoulder. Seems simple enough, in his own mortal terms. Salt circle, silver dagger, powers of everyone who intends to drink the potion, human sacrifice-

He gawks, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Human what?” He rasps, Oikawa plucking the paper from his hands.

“Human sacrifice,” Bokuto squeaks, tapping his index fingers together and avoiding eye contact. “Where did you think we’d get the blood from?”

“A blood bank?” Iwaizumi’s forehead creases so hard it’s painful.

“Homogenous, and fresh,” Oikawa sets the paper down. “Meaning blood from one singular body collected during the ritual.”

“We can’t…” Suga trails off. “I’m not going to let you all become murderers, either.”

“If it’s for our survival,” Kuroo sits upright. “We should do it. These are witches we’re going up against, not just witch hunters, and if they continue snooping around here, they won’t just go away. A month is a lot of time to hide as mortals.”

“But this is a human sacrifice!” Suga argues. “A real human will die if we do this. We may be Dark, but this is just…” He shakes his head. “A mortal life.”

“Suga,” Bokuto breathes. “We don’t want to kill anyone either, but if it’ll help keep us safe... I mean, it’s not just us. It’s Kenma, and Akaashi, and Iwaizumi, and _Daichi-”_ Suga gives him a glare, and Bokuto shuts his mouth.

“So,” Akaashi joins in, putting his folded hands out in front of him. “You don’t want to do it because you don’t want to kill someone, right?”

Suga slowly nods.

“Well,” Akaashi’s eyes are unwavering, cold. “What if the human you kill won’t die?”

“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto groans. “We can’t do necromancy. Where are we supposed to get a human that won’t… die…”

Bokuto trails off, his eyes moving robotically to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi looks to his right, Oikawa’s eyes piercing through him in shock, a shiver to run down his spine. He looks to his left, Suga, Kuroo, and Akaashi all staring back at him, the hanging light above them casting long shadows on their faces. No one dares blink, no one dares breathe. He looks down at the ten of swords in front of him, at the dead man with ten wounds, his stomach sinking.

So that’s what he’s doing this weekend.


	18. Dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning that there's a lot more cuss words in this chapter than most others, especially in the first part! 
> 
> !!! And a bigger warning for a brief mention of past contemplation of suicide years before the start of the story, and I would like to preface it by saying that it's not a sudden thing I just threw in for effect, and if it reads like it is, I am sorry and that it's totally my fault for not writing a certain character's depression (in a state of healing and betterment since the start of the fic) as well as I could have. It's my interpretation of writing a character's healing process, and how sometimes the past strikes back in moments of emotional passion.
> 
> If you'd like to skip it, skip from the line that starts with "But fuck, Tooru" to the line that starts with "He sucks in a shaky breath".
> 
> Chapter Song: Dirty by The Haunt
> 
> (I have been waiting so long to use this song oh my god y'all have no idea. This song and one other I have yet to use are ones I've had picked out since the beginning that I feel describe the fic so well and only now FINALLY get to use)

Iwaizumi is _totally_ okay with being the subject of his boyfriend’s Dark blood ritual. Yes. He is not nervous about it one bit, and even when they had discussed everything, pouring salt water into their test plant just to watch it die and revive to its original leafy green. 

He’s not nervous one bit. Not at all, no siree. He’s not nervous about it one bit, and this is just one of the hazards of dating a witch. Sometimes you just end up being part of a ritual, and he’s totally fine with that.

His legs shaking as he sits in the magic rental car? He’s just cold. The way he feels so sick to his stomach that he might throw up? He’s just cold. The way his heart is fluttering and pounding and clenching so hard he thinks he might die? He’s just cold. 

And maybe if he keeps telling himself that, he’ll believe it.

“Iwa, you’re making me nervous,” Oikawa rests his hand on Iwaizumi’s thigh, the rental car taking a left hand turn onto a suburban street, which is more of a two lane highway and gas stations and chain restaurants and a big yellow “JESUS” billboard in the distance, among what might be the north’s only Waffle House turned “we buy gold” franchise. “You didn't have to come, this is just a supplies store.”

“I’m involved now,” Iwaizumi stares out of the window, counting the Good Wills and Krogers on one hand and the Walmarts on the other. Living in a small town with one good Walmart and two chain restaurants and having everything else be family owned and operated really does interrupt the American psyche.

Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest. “You shouldn't have to be involved,” He mutters, the car stopping at a red light. 

Iwaizumi turns his head to Oikawa. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s…” Oikawa pouts, sinking into his own posture. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, just stares out at the semi-rural americana as the car starts up again. A few people carrying shopping bags on the sidewalks next to them, a few people in pajamas getting gas, a few teenagers in shirts promoting someone running for the local government handing out pamphlets to cars stopped at traffic lights. The air in the car starts to seep with frustration, and Iwaizumi clenches his jaw, turning back to Oikawa.

“Well, I am involved now, so I’d like to be here,” Oikawa stiffens at the gruff words, but Iwaizumi needs to say his piece. “You keep saying that this is a part of you as much as everything else, and this is me making my attempt to connect.”

Oikawa gives a sharp exhale, not looking away from his window. He mutters something under his breath, and Iwaizumi leans in.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s nothing,” Oikawa snaps, turning his head towards Iwaizumi, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “And what’s your problem today? I said you didn’t have to come, so don’t go getting bitchy on me now that you’re here.”

 _“I’m_ being bitchy?” Iwaizumi’s mouth goes tart. “You’re the one that hasn’t said a single thing and is sitting there just grumbling to yourself. I asked what’s on your mind and you won’t tell me, how is that me being bitchy?”

“Because you’re being forceful,” Oikawa sucks in a breath with his eyes closed, no doubt counting to ten the way Bokuto tells him to. But Iwaizumi only counts up to three before Oikawa speaks again. “And I could have done this alone.”

“I know you _could_ have, but if I‘m going to let you and your coven literally murder me, I’d like to have a little say in the things.”

“Your ‘say’ won’t change much when there’s a specific ingredient list,” Oikawa gestures vaguely, and the car turns left, forcing Oikawa to lean into Iwaizumi.

“If I don’t come, you’ll just get everything and leave me in the dark about magic like you always do,” Iwaizumi mutters, pushing Oikawa back into his own seat. 

“When have I _ever_ done that?” Oikawa asks, his tone evident that he knows full well Iwaizumi’s right. The lilt, the short, hesitant breath he takes before he speaks. Iwaizumi knows all of his tells. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “The fact I didn't know you were a witch until I saw you do a spell on one of our dates, or maybe the fact that you didn’t tell me you used magic on our sex life, or that you didn’t tell me that Suga’s fever could have killed me if he linked up to me when practicing that mirror thing-”

“How the hell was I supposed to know it would do that?”

“And I didn’t learn that witches had different forms until you mentioned it in a coven meeting? Didn’t know witches had expanded lifespans? Hell, Tooru, I probably wouldn't have even known about the ritual if I wasn’t already sitting there when Bokuto told us.”

Oikawa sits in seething silence, avoiding Iwaizumi’s gaze at all costs. A small flame burns in Iwaizumi’s veins, months of pent up lies and secrecy igniting beneath the surface. 

“I mean, we’re dating, you’re supposed to tell me-”

“Don’t bring that into this," Oikawa growls.

The words are dangerous, equally a threat and a promise. Oikawa stares at him, cheeks turning red in anger, his lips pressed against each other like they’re the last defense in holding Oikawa’s anger in. 

But what the hell can Oikawa do? Hurt him? It would have scared Iwaizumi off a few weeks ago, but there’s literally nothing he could lose. He's already fucking immortal.

“What else are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing-”

“There you go again.”

“Fuck, Iwa, what do you want me to say?” Oikawa raises his voice, eyes flickering between brown and blue as he stares Iwaizumi down. “Go on. What do you want me to say?”

Iwaizumi just glares, and Oikawa shifts in his seat.

“How about the fact that I’ve been honest about as much as I can?” He starts, fists clenched in his lap. “Or the fact that I was opposed to you being involved in the first place?”

“Honest?” Iwaizumi guffaws. “Sure, you’re honest, I’ll give you that, but only about things I end up finding out on my own. I always end up finding out on my own, or from other people, or from your mistakes and outbursts. Why can’t you tell me these things? Tell me what’s on your mind?”

“I tell you what’s on my mind. The night I cried myself into a panic attack because I was terrified of losing you? Terrified of holding you back?”

“That’s exactly what I fucking mean,” Iwaizumi angrily gestures at Oikawa, Oikawa not budging from his seat. “You only fucking told me because you were already so caught up in your own thoughts that it just turned into you blurting shit out!” Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head and chewing on his lip. “I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me things. Why you can’t just open up about shit without there being some sort of dramatic reveal.”

“Because!” Oikawa lets out a frustrated groan, a primal yell that sends chills down Iwaizumi's spine. A pained scream, Oikawa's hands clenching the air so hard his hands shake. “Fuck, Iwa! This isn’t supposed to be us!”

The words leave his lips, but it’s more of a tumble. A crash. The words sputter out and silent, hot tears roll down his cheeks and trickle off his chin.

“This isn’t supposed to be us!” He repeats, his voice strained. “Fuck, Hajime, what the fuck do you want me to tell you? That I don’t want you involved in this part of my life? That because of me, you’ve been trapped in this town, subjected to Dark magic, used as a test subject, attacked during a nightmare? Or maybe it’s the fucking fact you’re fucking immortal, and that people might come after you for it? Or maybe it’s the fucking _murder ritual_ this weekend? Fuck! This isn’t-” He wipes his eyes on the collar of his shirt. “This isn’t what this,” He motions frantically between himself and Iwaizumi. “Is! You’re not _supposed_ to be this involved, not supposed be part of this world.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, but it slams back shut as soon as Oikawa touches his fingers to his thumb. His body is rigid, unable to move, and Oikawa continues.

“I'm not fucking done," He hisses, and Iwaizumi lets him do his spell. Just this once. "And the worst part is that you’re so fucking calm about it!” Oikawa yells with a dry sob, banging his fist on his thigh. “You’re so fucking calm! It’s like I’m the only one worried about this! Aren’t you fucking terrified that maybe you won’t get back up somehow? Or terrified that this will just keep happening? Am I the only one that’s scared? The only one that stays awake at night thinking about this shit?”

The spell frees him.

“Of course I’m fucking scared!” He meets Oikawa’s puffy eyes. “I’ve always been scared! You’re a murder accomplice, for one thing, and it was so fucking easy to do! To get away with! You have fucking _demons_ at your house, and people that want to kill you! Of course I’m fucking worried about shit, have nightmares about shit, of course I’m not fucking calm about this!” 

He looks at Oikawa, who’s shuddering in his seat, shoulders bouncing with his silent sobs, eyes clenched shut as tremors ripple through him.

“But fuck, Tooru, fuck!" He shakes his head, looking forward, face tightening. "I’ve been trying so hard for you! Because this _is_ part of you, and this _is_ a hazard of dating you. Yes, my chest still hurts from where you blasted me. Yes, I’m still fucking pissed off that you hide things from me. Yes, I’m fucking terrified of being hunted down, eaten by demons, and used in a ritual. But this _is_ us,” He motions between them the same way Oikawa had. “Whether you like it or not, and I’d rather have _this_ here with you than work some office job that grinds me down ‘til I fucking kill myself like I wanted to all those years ago!”

_Like I wanted to do before I was given more than one reason to go on._

Fat tears drop onto his forearms and Oikawa fully breaks. Iwaizumi raises his hands up to his own face to wipe them away, his fingers pulling away slick and hot. The skin around his eyes are tight, cheek muscles straining. He’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily as Oikawa tries to get a grip on his own breathing. Iwaizumi tries to calm himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he runs a hand through his hair. He's never even admitted that to himself unless it's the tail end of his own catharsis, the years of thoughts of wanting to be something more, wanting to do something more, catching up to him. Maybe it's why he clung to Oikawa like a life raft, why he's so keen on keeping such a beacon of hope in his life. Maybe it's why he's so emotional, unable to confront something that's been lingering in the back of his mind for so long. Maybe it's why he's been so okay with the idea of being sacrificed in the first place, so scared of immortality. 

Years of hiding in music that understood how he felt, movies and shows that showed something fundamentally more than just an endless cycle of desk work day in and day out. Years of being too scared to do anything in fear of his parents and peers and what it might say about him. Years of hiding it from himself and choking every single bitter thought down so he didn't have to feel the pure weight of it all on his shoulders.

He sucks in a shaky breath, exhales, and does it all over again. Presses palms to his eyes, sniffles. Drags hands down his face. Breathe. Breathe again. Cry a little more. Reach hands up to grab something and drop them back down in failure. More tears. More clenching at nothing until his shoulders shake all the regret from his body. 

It’s a silent ride down the highway after the final explosion, if only for a few minutes. Oikawa settles down, conjuring a packet of tissues to share, rubbing his nose red with soggy and snotty tissues. Iwaizumi leans on his hand, rubbing Oikawa’s arm in long, gentle strokes, feeling the warmth of residual anger and anxiety just exude off of him. Off of them both.

“I was the first,” Oikawa breathes when he evens out. “I went into the woods alone and signed my name in a book I knew nothing about, just because I wanted to feel powerful,” He sniffles, looking down at his tissue. “My task was to curse someone, and I wanted to prove how ‘Dark’ I could be. I’ve ruined someone’s family line, Iwa, I proudly cursed an entire line of mortals and now they’ll all die out.”

Iwaizumi lets him talk, continuing the stroking motions as Oikawa brings the tissue up to his nose and dabs away all the excess snot. 

“I’m not proud anymore. I don’t feel powerful. I’m scared. I’m just so fucking scared,” He stops, gripping the tissue so hard his knuckles turn white. “I don’t hate being Dark. I don’t. I love being a witch, I love being able to snap my fingers and have things just get done for me, how I have more of a family now than I ever did before. Home life, school. Hell, I fucked and partied my way through high school because I thought it would have made shit less painful,” He sniffs. “But I’m just so lonely. And this? Us? This is the best thing to ever fucking happen to me,” He loses the words a bit, choking on them as they scrape his throat. “I’m still so scared and insecure and _scared_ to lose that. Lose you.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi’s heart pulls up into his throat, and rubbing Oikawa’s arm is all he can manage to do, his brain fogged over. His eyes tighten again, and he chokes down his tears. “I know.”

They sit in silence for a bit, comfortable, warm in the honesty of each other. Oikawa continues to sniffle, to flick his nose, dab his tears away, but the worst of it is over, and there’s no harsh feelings. Explosion, then understanding. It’s how things always went, but Iwaizumi hates the fact he gets so worked up over things that he can’t control. He’s strong, mainly because no one’s ever _tried_ to soften him, but he’s always had a gentle, fragile heart. Always tried to love and understand others, but met with a sort of emotional wall due to his resting bitch face and “get the hell out of my way” aura. Scared to venture beyond that, to show anything other than forcing it all down so no one has to carry his burden for him.

Oikawa knows him better than he knows himself, able to coax out that gentle understanding with every touch, every lingering stare. He could get lost in Oikawa and never complain, and would chase after him forever, if that’s what it takes. He'd live forever if it meant getting to wake up in Oikawa's arms every morning.

“The blood ritual,” Oikawa starts, rubbing his fingers under his nose, fanning his face. “Well, rituals are usually just a general term for actions taken with a specific goal in mind or to create a certain effect. For us, that’ll be making an assimilation potion,” He rubs his own arm, Iwaizumi pulling back, lingering warmth clinging to his fingers. “We’ll draw a salt circle at moonrise, the entire process shifted to the moon phase. The salt purifies the area, and the moon enhances our powers. Since there’s four of us, we’ll all stand in the cardinal directions, and you’ll be in the center. We’ll have our channeling crystals, which I’ve chosen four most suited to your energy, but we can test them today just in case,” He explains, and Iwaizumi nods in vague understanding. “There’s a spell, all of us using our combined magicks, and we’ll follow the steps of creating the potion. The final ingredient is the blood of what you want to assimilate into, and then we drink every drop of the potion before we leave the circle, or else it’ll break, and we’ll have to do it again.”

Iwaizumi tries to process what’s going to happen, moving forward into the very real death he'll be facing tomorrow night, but at least he's being let into the know. As far as he knows, the witches will do witchy things, and then Oikawa is going to stab him with a silver dagger. He furrows his brow, and blinks.

“Hey, Tooru,” He rasps as the car pulls up to the house-turned metaphysical bookstore, an empty lot turned into a shared parking lot for some herbal soap shop, in which Oikawa gets his phone out and texts Kuroo about upon seeing it. Oikawa’s thumbs hover over his texts to find the right conversation, and he responds slowly.

“Yeah?”

“Your nightmare,” He breathes and Oikawa looks up in confusion, then looks back down. “You… stabbed me. With a silver dagger, right?”

Oikawa presses send and slowly looks up, realization creeping across his face. He covers his hand with his mouth, eyes bugging out as he fights the small squeak that inevitably escapes him. He blinks, and removes his palm.

“Fuck,” He curses, returning his hand to his face, speaking through his fingers. “Shit, was that prophetic?”

“I don’t…” Iwaizumi trails off. “I would never attack you like that.”

“Anger,” Oikawa whispers. “It was the argument. Ah, shit, I’ve turned into Suga.”

“Oh come on,” Iwaizumi fixes a rogue piece of Oikawa’s hair, twirling strands between his fingers before he pulls away. “Your dreams aren’t that bad. Last I heard, he was dreaming of sea shanties, and nothing can top that on the list of awful things to dream about.”

“I can think of a few things,” Oikawa dabs away the last of the redness from his eyes, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Like your German metal.”

“Do _not_ diss Rammstein like that,” Iwaizumi warns, the last bit of tension melting away. “I will actually come for you.”

Oikawa sighs with a small smile, reaching his hand up to rub Iwaizumi’s cheek with the pad of this thumb, eyes still dewey and red and fond. “I know.”

Iwaizumi leans into his touch, since Oikawa’s not usually the one to _caress_ people. But when he does, it’s always soft, sweet, something that they both know makes Iwaizumi melt into a pile of putty on the floor. It’s Oikawa’s secret weapon, and he uses it well. And how he loves it. Craves it. 

“Now, let’s go shopping, yeah?" He unbuckles his own seatbelt as Oikawa brings a paper out of his pocket. "I have a whole freaking list and I need help.”

He passes the list to Iwaizumi, and there’s only a few things that he recognizes. Witch hazel, something called thorn-apple, obsidian, kyanite, jade, and rose quartz. These were meant to be crystals that described Iwaizumi, but their meanings are lost on him. 

They get out of the car and it auto-locks, Oikawa shoving the magical key back into his pocket as he walks up to the door, five different styles of windchimes lining the sides of the awning. The small renovated house smells like lavender and sage, with just a touch of powdered vervain, and how Iwaizumi knows that he has no clue. He knows the smell of sage very well, since Suga always smelled like burnt or fresh sage throughout middle and elementary school, and he has since learned that he bundles or burns it when he’s anxious. 

It’s also the smell of old books, new books, and a thick energy hangs heavy in the air. He pets the yellow cat sitting near the entrance, sitting so still it could almost be a gargoyle, and Oikawa approaches the cashier’s counter, waiting to be helped.

“I thought these places were bogus,” Iwaizumi looks around the bookstore, a group of “edgy” teens reading books on demonology and how to improve their chakras in six easy steps. “I mean, this is just a book on Ruth Bader Ginsberg,” He picks up the biography and flips through it, eyeing a children’s book on LGBTQ+ historical figures. “Cool.”

“Where else do you think we get supplies?” Oikawa furrows his brow with a short sniffle, examining an altar candle with a picture of Bob Ross on it, sending a picture to Bokuto to see if he wants it. “It’s not like you can just find citrine and mandrake in the backyard,” He looks around to see if anyone’s coming, and returns his attention to the list of ingredients they need. 

“Uh, sure,” Iwaizumi hums, and a short blonde woman scurries up to the counter, her name tag upside down, reading 'Yachi' in a neat script.

“Sorry for the wait!” She eyes them, looking ready to have a panic attack from being overworked. “Hope you weren’t waiting long, I was in the back and there’s a cat I can’t find, and-” She eyes the cat sitting at the entrance, and breathes. “He’s back, oh my god. Muffin, don’t do that, I was so worried and… Never mind,” She collects herself and dons a smile. “How can I help you today?”

“Ah, hello there,” Oikawa beams like he hadn't been crying ten minutes prior. “I was wondering if you could help me find something in particular.”

“Right,” She taps the screen of the computer, ready to type. “Is there a specific author or title? A stone you’re looking for? Because we have these sheets you fill out,” She picks up a clipboard and offers it.

“Actually, we’re shopping for a child,” Oikawa smiles, and the Yachi’s eyes cross into realization. 

“How old are they?” She responds, entering some sort of calm trance, and Oikawa’s grin widens.

“One and a half,” He points to Iwaizumi, and Yachi looks him up and down, almost surveying for something in particular.

“Maybe if you could show me a picture?” She returns her attention to Oikawa, who pulls on his collar, revealing the mark on his chest, letting his eyes prove everything else. Yachi nods, her eyes flickering pink, and pulls her hands away from the keyboard. 

“Right this way, Sirs,” She nods, heading off towards the back room. Iwaizumi follows behind Oikawa, looking at the other workers in the room as they pass, their eyes following inquisitively.

Iwaizumi wonders if they’re all witches, or if they’re all people like him, mortals privileged with such knowledge. Oikawa had said something about how metaphysical bookstores were almost always run by The Night Children, as Light witches would a) never give mortals their sacred knowledge, b) never carry books on demonology and Dark magic, and c) take pride in growing and collecting things on their own. They pass by display cases full of astrology charms, a wall made entirely of boxes of crystals sorted by color and size, and a whole array of incense burners, and Iwaizumi can’t help but gawk at just how much of it was actually real.

She puts her hand on the doorknob to the staff only room, and opens it with a small spell spoken under her breath. Once opened, a room about half the size of the main floor opens up, with shelves that look like a storage room, but full of witches and workers alike. She steps out, and Oikawa motions for Iwaizumi to follow.

“If you need anything, Shimizu or Yamaguchi would love to assist you!” Yachi points to a beautiful dark-haired woman at the end of the first aisle, and a tall freckled man helping a short ginger witch with his ingredient list.

Oikawa picks up a basket from the stack next to the door as Yachi leaves them be, and walks to the back shelf, backs pressed against the windows, away from prying eyes and listening ears. Lines of bagged powdered herbs and roots hang on labeled hooks to their right, and the start of the tomes to their left.

“Alright, want to split up the list-” A mandrake cries from the pot of soil next to them, and Iwaizumi nearly crashes into their collection of powdered witch hazel. “Why don’t you just hold the basket.”

He couldn’t thank Oikawa more, and gladly takes the basket.

Oikawa looks at his list, and looks at the powders, then back to his list, stumped. “I don’t know if we need witch hazel leaf or bark,” He sends a text to Bokuto, and grabs both. “Better safe than sorry. And some thorn-apple.”

He looks at the packages, Iwaizumi looks at the packages, they look behind every hook for anything that might be possibly mislabelled, but there’s no thorn-apple. He moves with Oikawa into the next aisle, distracted by a book on how to rid your house of imps, but there’s still no thorn-apple. Next aisle, and they’ve gone too far, Oikawa lost in looking at a book of charms on increasing the odds of finding random money in the streets.

“May I help you?” A voice asks, and Oikawa jumps, looking at the tall freckled man, Yamaguchi.

“Uh, thorn-apple,” Oikawa sizes him up, from his friendly smile to his chewed nails. “Do you happen to have any?”

“Ah,” He nods, moving fluidly through the aisles to the first shelf they had looked at. “It’s labeled as devil’s snare,” He pulls it off the shelf and hands it over. “Disguise potion?”

“Of sorts,” Oikawa tries to smile. “Would you happen to know if witch hazel bark or leaf is better for glamouring?”

“Both,” He answers simply. “Using both will strengthen it. May I ask what kind of glamour it is? Sometimes there’s an ingredient left out of recipes that could fortify it, and since I grew all of these myself, I know how fresh or old each batch is, and that might have an effect, too.”

Iwaizumi never knew that so much could affect one potion, but magic seems to be a fickle thing, and he really doesn’t want to have to die twice because their kyanite is the wrong shade or their witch hazel is too fresh. 

And god, this is enough to give him a headache.

“Hm,” Oikawa scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not one to share my plans outside of my coven,” Yamaguchi nods in understanding, and Oikawa continues. “But it’s a sort of assimilation potion.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi’s eyes go a little wide, but he nods. “Well, no matter how weak or strong you want to make it, the age of the ingredients doesn’t matter. It’s more about the assimilation agent, not the additives. The witch hazel, devil’s snare, and channeling mediums are just things to help flavor the agent or bind it to your own magic,” He checks the bags in their basket, a date written on the back of each one. “But, you want the witch hazel to be around the same age, so you’re good with that. The devil’s snare,” He grabs a few packets and checks the date, choosing two and putting them in the basket. “You’ll want that to be fresh, and I ground these yesterday morning.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Oikawa rubs his chin. “Say, Freckles-”

“You can call me Yamaguchi.”

“Yama-chan, would you say that these crystals match this mortal with me?”

Yamaguchi gives him a side eye at the nickname, but scans over the list, then looks Iwaizumi up and down. He returns his attention to the list, and nods.

“I’d think so. You know him better than I do, though. Are these the channeling mediums?”

“They are.”

Yamaguchi looks around, over his shoulder, and calls out for Shimizu, who swiftly approaches, reaching out for the list of ingredients.

“These are channeling mediums for an assimilation potion, do you think they need bigger or smaller pieces?”

She just gives Yamaguchi a look, moves her eyes to scan over Oikawa and Iwaizumi, (and if Iwaizumi wasn’t totally on board the dude train, he might have fawned over being sort-of checked out by someone so beautiful), and walks off. 

“She knows crystals more than I do,” Yamaguchi sheepishly explains. “I’m more of a plant guy.”

“Well, we all have our strengths.”

“Yeah, yours?” He makes idle conversation.

“Conjuring,” Oikawa returns proudly, and Shimizu returns, holding four stones in her hand, offering them to Iwaizumi.

“Try these,” She says, looking over her shoulder at new customers, heading over to help them. Iwaizumi stares at the stones in his hands, almost tingling.

“What do I do?”

Oikawa blows amused air out of his nose, and holds a hand over Iwaizumi’s open palm. “Yeah, these will work. You can practically feel a layer of energy.”

Iwaizumi stares down at the stones in his hand, the green staring back like his own eyes, the kyanite like his favorite tie dye shirt. The obsidian and rose quartz are stark against each other, one soft, one hard, but somehow mingling so well that he can’t bring himself to tear them apart. 

So these are the stones that best represent him. 

He has no idea what any of them mean, but the kyanite is pretty cool, and what else could he possibly want out of a magic stone that’ll help lead to his first death? He smiles down at the stones, a closed mouth affair, something so small no one will ever notice. 

If Oikawa thought he was half as pretty as these stones, though, well, he might just be the luckiest man alive.

-

“Whenever you’re ready, Kenma,” Kuroo presses the pen to his design notebook, eyes gazing over Kenma on the couch, looking through his photos. His face is wrinkled, tired, but it’s better than it had been when he first arrived. “Take all the time you need, kitten, there’s no rush.”

Kenma glares at him for the nickname, but shows pictures of Ushijima and Terushima, Kuroo writes their names down, with a small description. Terushima is the embodiment of everything that is bright about the Light, with his social skills and his eager nature, and Ushijima is everything that’s _terrifying_ about it. Strong, stone-faced, and absolutely powerful.

Things that Kuroo would forever secretly think that Kenma didn’t fit wholly into. Sure, Kenma’s stronger and smarter than he’ll ever be, but he’s never been strong in the way that the Light is strong. He’s never been bright the way the Light is bright. He was raised Light, trained to be Light, but he was and never will be Light in the way he needs to be.

Kenma takes in a deep breath and nods, setting the phone aside and meets Kuroo’s eyes, a sheen of quiet anger glossing over his eyes.

“They’re Light, part of a coven that I was led to believe studies Light magic and has an immense sense of community,” His gaze drops to the floor, and a heavy sigh follows. “They’re my age, I’ve met them before, they’re actually kind of chill, and would only report the coven to their superiors instead of take action on their own. That explains why they haven’t done magic yet,” He scratches his elbow, sitting cross legged, leaning forward on his elbows. “From what I know, though, Ushijima turns twenty-one very soon, so he’ll be a full witch, and the little nullification spell that Suga put on all my trackers won’t work anymore.”

“Right,” Kuroo scribbles down everything Kenma tells him, face twisted in determination as he struggles to keep up. How much longer until he comes into his full powers? It’s early August now, so how much time do they _actually_ have? “Which is why we’re in the forest for the ritual tomorrow and not here.”

“Right,” Kenma pulls one leg up to his chest, staring down at the floor.

He’s made great progress, his cheeks fuller, rosier, his new clothes fitting him better than Kuroo’s and Suga’s ever would, although he’s still stolen Kuroo’s favorite hoodie. And Kuroo couldn’t be happier about that, even though his arms get cold at night. He’s also quieter than Kuroo remembers, but he still sees traces of Kenma, _his Kenma,_ in this one, slowly crawling out of that shell.

He has Kenma back in his clutches, and the rift between them is far less great than Kenma seems to think it is.

He’s never cared that Kenma came from a Light family. He’s never been _Light_ in the same way Kuroo wasn’t ever _Dark,_ not until he signed his name in the grimoire. There’s still time for Kenma to fully think about what each side will bring, and Kuroo might be a little biased, but he wants Kenma to be Dark more than anything.

It’s selfish, and he should be angry that the Light has paired up with the witch hunters, should be angry that the Light betrayed Kenma’s parents, angry that the Light is _hunting them as they speak._

But if it’s Kenma that’s Light, then maybe he’ll accept it, just a little.

Rapid footsteps downstairs interrupt them, a heavy sort of clamoring that can only be a happy Bokuto. Kuroo gives Kenma a little nod, and closes the notebook, setting it aside as a mass of pure energy rounds the corner.

“Alright, party people,” Bokuto slides into the room, a box in his hands and a stupid grin on his face. “Guess what I ordered?”

“Uh,” Kuroo looks up from his lap and presses his lips into a line, eyes trailing from the box to Bokuto, his smile a little too wide for whatever’s in the box to be good. “What did you get?”

“Only the best thing in the entire world!” He plops down on the couch, almost launching Kenma into the air as Akaashi follows in with a mug of tea and some of the rejected cookies, (the ones that Goshiki had accidentally stuck his thumb into during his shift), that Bokuto brought home. 

He bounces in his chair, clapping his hands excitedly as he rips the packing tape in half with his bare hands. Kuroo’s eyes go wide and Akaashi shifts next to him, a small shiver running down his spine with the way his shoulders shudder and his face scrunches up pleasantly. Kuroo stares at Akaashi, his eye twitching at how Akaashi smiles at how excited Bokuto is, how his eyes soften when Bokuto makes little squeals of pure joy. He hides a smile with his tea, and Bokuto is none the wiser.

_Interesting._

Bokuto throws the air pillows out of the box, letting them fall at his feet as he pulls out a game cartridge, showing it off upside down.

“Wanna play super mario party?” He grins, and Kenma’s eyes light up.

Dammit. Bokuto found Kenma’s one weakness. _Competitive gaming._ The only time Kenma could ever be Darker than Kuroo, and damn near take over the world.

“I texted Suga if he wanted to play, but I’m pretty sure he’s either in his room or getting dicked down-”

“Hey!” Suga calls from upstairs, voice muffled by his bedroom door. “I wish I was, since Daichi and I have done literally everything _except_ actual sex and I think I’m going dick crazy, but some people have to do some fucking research in this house!”

“What is he researching?” Bokuto asks at the same time Akaashi mumbles his piece.

“I wish I was, too.”

Bokuto turns to Akaashi with his eyebrows drooping. “What?”

“What?” Akaashi coughs, shoving a cookie into his mouth. “I asked the same thing you did.”

Bokuto’s gaze lingers on Akaashi for a few seconds, his trance breaking as Kenma speaks up, making an excited grab for the game in Bokuto’s hands.

“I think he’s looking in his grimoire for salt circles or some shit,” Kenma holds it up and points at it with the fervor of a master, eyes so pointed at Kuroo they could probably stab right through him. “You didn’t tell me you had a console!”

“It’s not hooked up,” Kuroo stands up to avoid Kenma’s death stare and opens the cabinet below the tv, revealing a mess of cords, a gaming console, and a collection of VHS tapes that Suga’s dad probably owned when VHS first became a thing. One of them is labeled “spring festival 1979”. Kuroo grimaces at what could possibly be on the tape, but he probably doesn’t even have to guess, most of his experiences with Daisuke Sugawara involving the latter trying to convince him to join a fertility festival with other Dark witches their age. It’s not the kind of coven _bonding_ he’s super into.

What’s most surprising, though, is that Suga isn’t even the thirstiest person in his family. But with what he’s been gossiping to Akaashi and Oikawa about after his dates, he’s gone a long way with Daichi, and he’s going to try to make a move to go all the way next time they go out. He’s happy for Suga, happy that he’s able to show that vulnerability and show that side of him to someone he trusts, happy that Suga’s had the same experience as most mortal teens when they leave their strict parents’ homes for the first time and get so drunk they pass out in a frat house. 

Yes, he’s very happy for Suga and his advancements with Daichi.

But it’s doing nothing to help the fact that the first person he ever wanted to be intimate with is back in his life. Sure, he’s had his (few) nights out to bars with Bokuto when he turned twenty-one, ending up in an uber ride home at three in the morning or waking up next to some girl he managed to entertain for the night, but there was never an emotional attachment. 

Now that there is, there’s something somewhat uncomfortable about he and Kenma’s situation, something unspoken that makes every lingering stare, every breath across his skin, every tingling touch absolutely unbearable. He’s like Suga, starting to go a little crazy with just how desperate he is for _anything,_ for Kenma’s birthday to come because he’s basically in the same boat, which makes it all the worse.

He blames everything on Akaashi’s sex demon powers. 

It’s been affecting everyone _except_ Bokuto, who it’s all directed towards, and it’s slowly driving them all up the wall. Last time Akaashi went into a seduction haze at the sight of Bokuto’s living room workout session, Oikawa had to “commandeer” his soap room with Iwaizumi. He shudders at the memory of walking in the next day, his desk completely cleared of designs and the pigments he meticulously lays out, everything still frantically discarded on the floor.

They _are_ a bunch of college-age boys, after all. 

Kenma slinks off of the couch and crouches in front of the cabinet, grabbing every remote he can and starts to untangle the wires. Kuroo turns his attention back to Bokuto and Akaashi, where Bokuto is trying to explain what the hell a mario party is, Akaashi looking absolutely lost.

“You know that Kenma’s going to crush you, right?” He shifts back to look at Kenma, who’s making quick work of the console, almost frenzied at the thought of getting to play a game that isn’t just an app on a smartphone.

“Well,” Bokuto grins, putting his hand over his chest in fake modesty. “I’m actually pretty good at it myself! Just _try_ to beat me at snack attack, I bet you can’t.”

“I bet I can,” Kenma hisses over his shoulder. “I’m going to win, fuck all of you.”

“I have no idea what any of this means,” Akaashi deadpans, sipping on his tea.

“Are we betting on things?” Suga calls from the top of the stairs. “Because I have twenty bucks on Bokuto smoking all of you. He’s not kidding when he says he’s good, but I think Oikawa and I might just suck.”

“When the hell did you play?” Kuroo calls up to him, hands on his hips, and Suga emerges from his room, leaning out of the doorway, a pen tucked behind his ear and lip bitten red.

“Iwaizumi has it,” Suga responds nonchalantly, adjusting his grip on the grimoire in his hand. “But my twenty bucks are on Bokuto.”

“When were you all at Iwaizumi’s?” Kuroo turns his attention to Bokuto. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Ah, it was May and you were busy, it was when Iwa graduated and I signed up for my summer classes and-” Bokuto blanks, mouth slamming shut. “Fuck, hey Suga!”

“What?” Suga’s face drops like he would rather do anything other than what Bokuto might need.

“We have to sign up for the next semester at school!”

“Ugh,” Suga groans, pressing his head to the doorframe and lightly banging it a few times. “I think not getting murdered by witches is a little more important than my political science degree.”

“Well, I only need six more credit hours before I can finally graduate,” Bokuto starts fiddling with his shirt. “But yeah, you might be right.”

“What’s your major?” Akaashi stares, eyes skeptical. “You have a _degree?”_

“Linguistics,” Bokuto waves him off like it’s nothing, leaving Akaashi with more questions than answers. Kuroo doesn’t blame him, as everyone had the same reaction when Bokuto told them, especially when he majored in it ‘for fun’. Explains why he takes to spells so quickly. “I guess we’re taking the semester off! Great, since that just means more time for work and hanging around here!” His hair perks back up, and he looks around the room, hands on his hips and grin so bright it’s almost painful to look at. “I am so excited to be playing this with my bros! ‘Kaashi, you’re going to love this!”

The tv hums to life, and Kenma smirks over his shoulder, the gesture entirely directed at Kuroo, waving one of the remotes for Kuroo to see. Kuroo rolls his eyes, but he can’t be angry when Kenma’s smiling so big. He inserts the game disk and hands out the remotes, which are somewhat covered in dust, but nothing as bad as when Akaashi had first arrived and started dusting with his tail.

“Alright, losers,” Kenma grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, like a hungry wolf circling its wounded prey. “Who else wants to bet on their impossible win?”

-

Ennoshita stares out of the window, eyeing the house next door with the same look on his eyes that he always gets. Fear, wonder, and just plain curiosity. Daichi watches him cross the room into their living room, taking a seat on the floor across from the couch next to him, crossing his legs.

Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Asahi sit on the couch, everyone in the room holding their breath for Ennoshita to tell them what to do. Daichi would take charge, but he has no idea how to. This isn’t his territory, this isn’t what he knew about the world. This is Ennoshita’s territory, and for that, he’d make a better leader than he ever could.

“Okay,” Ennoshita looks around the room. “Nothing I say leaves this circle, okay? I don’t… I mean, these are possible witches-”

“Or demons!” Nishinoya excitedly interrupts.

“Or demons…” Ennoshita carefully continues. “Who might have already killed a witch hunter. This isn’t something to take lightly, and if you don’t want any part in this, you can leave.”

No one dares budge, to disturb the silence of the room. It’s all nervous glances exchanged among themselves, puckered lips and wrinkled noses. Eyes that scrape the floor, and land on each other.

“Witches are real, but there’s a sort of… lack, so to speak, of understanding on our part. The…” He looks ahead, closes his eyes, and breathes in a bit. “The witch hunters. My family.”

“Badass, dude,” Tanaka tries to comfort, hiking his thumb up with a smile. “So witches are real, how do we know that Suga and company are demons, not witches? Or witches, not demons. I don’t really know what we decided on.”

“Well, the Suga that attacked me in the woods, the one with the purple eyes and the little salute before jumping _into the ground,_ said that he was more demon than witch. So.”

“Wait he,” Daichi’s mouth dries. “He what?”

“He tried to choke Ennoshita, and then saluted me and Noya before the ground slurped him up like quicksand.”

“Why did no one tell me this?” Daichi looks around the room. “This whole time, and no one said my boyfriend did this?”

“Well,” Asahi touches his fingers together. “You’re so happy with him…”

Everyone nods in agreement.

“The fact is,” Noya starts. “No matter what, we know Suga, and Suga would never do awful things unless it was life or death, or had a very, _very_ good reason.”

“Then why would he jump me?”

“Are we sure there aren't like, two Sugas?” Noya scratches the back of his neck, his voice trailing off. “Doesn’t matter. There’s a possible demon house next door and I want in on whatever they’re doing. Kobayashi acted like a serial killer, maybe we should be glad he’s gone-”

“Hey,” Tanaka snaps his fingers in front of Noya’s face. “As right as you are, a man still died. No matter how totally awesome it is our friend is either a demon or has freakin’ magic powers, this is serious.”

There’s not an ounce of his voice that reads that he’s being serious. Instead, his lips quiver into a shameless smile, a twin look to Nishinoya. They look giddy, ready to burst out of their seats at the mere mention of anything paranormal. 

They’re almost too much to deal with, but they're the people who know Suga the best other than himself, and they’ll need their demon expertise and endless, stupid bravery for anything they plan on doing.

“So what’s the deal with witches?” Noya turns to Ennoshita, and Ennoshita sits up in his chair, face twisted in thought.

“Well,” He begins. “I don’t know how much of this is right, but from what I’ve learned growing up, there’s, like, good witches that use their magic to help society and bad witches who sell their souls to… TheDevilForPowers,” He quickly says, eyes in the room getting wider. “But that’s not totally confirmed! Good and bad witches have the same powers, and the good ones don't sell their souls, so that’s like, good? It’s all about intention.”

“Suga’s not religious,” Nishinoya scratches his chin. “I think he got angry when someone tried to call satanists evil, though, explaining that Satan just means opposer and they worship the turn against religion instead of like christianity’s Lucifer, and oh my god is Suga a Satanist?”

“I’d call that a point for demon or evil witch.” Tanaka counters. “Leaning towards demons.”

They high five, and Ennoshita continues.

“I’d agree,” He nods. “You’ve actually, uh, met witches before. One of my… coworkers… called for backup, and two of the good ones have been asking around for information on the bad ones. It’s why I’m kind of hesitant to believe that there’s even witches here? Because surely they would have found them by now if there _were_ witches, right?”

“Those two annoying men are witches?” Noya screeches, Asahi jumping at the sudden noise, covering his ears and scowling. “Wait, so that mark.”

“It’s a witch’s mark. Witches get them when they get their full powers.”

“Well, Suga doesn’t have one,” Tanaka’s brow knits together, and all eyes fall on Daichi. “Does he?”

“Why would I know?” Daichi squawks. 

“Don’t think we don’t know you’re boning,” Tanaka leans forward. “You’ve seen him, is there a mark?”

“I-” Daichi swallows. “He had a badly drawn rose on his chest once, which was weird, but I didn’t want to say anything about it. And there’s makeup, he wears makeup on his body and he said it was because he was self conscious of his freckles and moles.”

“Makeup,” Ennoshita scratches his chin. “Well, it’s a possibility, then.”

“But,” Daichi thinks back to how he’s showered with Suga before, seen and touched and taken in almost every inch of him. If there was anything to find, he would have found it by now, right? Or was he a victim of such magic? “Shit.”

He hangs his head, a heavy sigh pressing into his chest. He needs to exhale, his lungs starting to constrict with the pressure, but he can’t bring himself to let it go. Letting go means accepting that this is his new reality. That his boyfriend isn’t human, that his town is an underworld battleground between good and evil, and that there was absolutely no avoiding it.

_Suga._

Can he really accept someone who may not even be human? Maybe. Suga’s never given him a reason not to. He’s patient when Daichi is ranting about his family, is caring where it counts, spends his days singing off-key to the classic rock that plays in the diners on his breaks, dancing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His smile can light up a room, can fill the hearts of the many. 

Daichi almost doesn’t deserve someone like Suga, so much so that Daichi can't help but question why he ever went for someone like himself in the first place. He’s boring, he’s average. All of his past exes have all admitted that he’s just reliable, nothing that stands out, nothing exciting.

But maybe that’s why someone so extraordinary would want someone like him. An anchor, someone that can ground everyone around him. 

With Suga, being reliable isn’t all too bad.

And he wants to continue being that for Suga, no matter what.

“So, does this have anything to do with the pile of doves I found in the woods?” NIshinoya kicks his legs back and forth.

“The what?”

“You know,” Nishinoya looks around the room, bringing out his notebook. “The dead doves I found after the blackout.”

“Jesus Christ,” Asahi mutters.

“We need to check out those woods again. The fact we found Suga in a field full of daisies when he attacked you is kinda unnerving, since that’s full Suga.”

Daichi thinks back to the Fourth of July, when Suga had mentioned how his mother had taken him to a field of daisies when he was little. 

“Yeah, he’s always loved them, like a lot. I asked him once and he said they reminded him of his childhood or something,” Tanaka gestures. “But there’s something up with the woods. I think it’ll be best to check it out, just one last time. 

“Tomorrow. We need to go as soon as possible,” Noya interjects.

“I’m not going back into those woods,” Ennoshita shakes his head, shuddering.

“And I work tomorrow,” Asahi rubs his arm. “Is there anything I can do here?”

“You can help me look through files,” Ennoshita sighs. “I pulled records on Oikawa and Bokuto, but there’s nothing there. No history of witches, no witches in the family, no nothing. As far as we know, they’ve never been witches, and I didn’t even bother to look up Kuroo, Akaashi, or Kenma. I was afraid that asking too much might draw too much attention to us. I don’t want to get anyone else involved.”

“Makes sense,” Daichi agrees. “So what are you going to do?”

“Asahi and I can continue looking through the Sugawara files. There’s been witches in the past, but there’s no recent accounts. Like, there’s a few that date back to England, some in Eastern Europe, some in Japan, someone who was executed here a while ago, and then it just… weeds out after that. There’s some disappearances, but nothing that says they’re magical. My working theory is that someone got executed and everyone just up and gave up witchcraft.”

The room goes quiet, deep sighs and eyes once again skimming the floor. It’s a lot to take in, a lot to believe, a lot to stomach. Suga mentioned his family’s been here since they settled, his some-great grandfather and siblings being some of the first people to get off the boat from England. His grandmothers lived here after that, and then his parents. 

His mother who had died, and Suga hasn’t said how.

“So,” Tanaka breaks the silence, his eyes snaking over Daichi. “Woods, tomorrow night after work. You in?”

Daichi nods.

-

“Hey Suga,” Kenma smugly calls from the bottom of the stairs. Suga groans and puts his pen to the side, carrying his grimoire out to the stairwell, where he can see Akaashi comforting a crying Bokuto, Kuroo laughing his ass off while he takes photos of him, and Kenma standing triumphantly with his hands on his hips. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Did Bo lose?” Suga’s eyes go wide. “But-”

“Badly,” Kenma grins. “Crushed.”

Suga “tch”’s and conjures his wallet, levitating the twenty bucks down into Kenma’s hand. “What about Akaashi?”

Kenma’s face falls flat, eye twitching, “He almost beat me.”

“I didn't know what the hell was happening half the time, but it was fun!” Akaashi offers Bokuto a cookie, which gets him to stop crying long enough to take a bite, his hand rubbing over Bokuto’s back.

“Yeah,” Kuroo wheezes, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, tears in his eyes. “Until Bokuto stole your points and you threatened to eat him.”

“Well I don’t mean it _now.”_ Akaashi defends.

“Wait,” Bokuto stops crying, and Akaashi quickly moves on.

“So what did you find, Suga?”

“Akaashi-” Bokuto starts again, eyes locked on. 

“Well,” Suga cuts him off and looks down at his grimoire, pushing past great Aunt Riya’s book, past great great Uncle Jun’s book, and stops on a darkly blackened page, white text looping and glowing before his very eyes. “Wait, hang on.”

Kenma and Akaashi lean on the walls, looking up at him expectantly, Kuroo standing with his hands on his hips, Bokuto peeking a snotty head out from behind the entrance to the living room. All eyes are on him, but he doesn’t care, and it doesn't stop his breath from hitching in the back of his throat, tickling his breaths. Last time the book glowed like this, he was gifted a spell that took out the power of half the town and nearly killed him. And then it _did_ kill someone.

The wording swirls like it's being written just for him, backlit with a pale, soft greyish-purple glow, forming a short word and a few descriptive sentences.

_Sumacorpo._

_Limited mortal control spell, use this when you want to influence and manipulate someone’s wills and desires. Only works on mortals, and can only be used once per person per witch. Studies as to why to follow, but may cross too heavily into forbidden magicks to prove useful._

Suga furrows his brow, shaking his head in disbelief, “What the hell?”

“What is it?” Kuroo warily begins, face turning stony, worry lacing his voice. “That’s not a good look. Please tell me it isn’t something that’s going to ruin our lives.”

“It’s…” Suga blinks, mouth opening and closing like a fish, the cold anxiety creeping up his limbs like a tub slowly filling with water. “A mind control spell? But like,” He looks at the white horror on Kuroo, Kenma, and Bokuto’s faces. “But it’s not… chaos? It’s almost body magic,” He runs his finger along the text, forehead creased. He turns the page, but there’s no test results to follow. He turns back, and the spell already starts to fade, disappearing into the yellow pages like it had never existed at all. “It was black magic, not chaos.”

“How can that work?” Kuroo asks quietly, lips firmly sealed at the idea of a “maybe” mind control spell existing and being discussed in their house. He looks around nervously, like someone’s listening in. “I mean, it’s… those are very different kinds of magic.”

“I…” Suga shakes his head, his spine prickling at the thought. He knows chaos magic well, it took away more than he could ever know. But this? The fact that it’s still within the laws of magic? “I don’t know. But it’s definitely not chaos magic. It’s… influence, desire manipulation. Black magic. It’s…” He gapes, and looks up to meet Kuroo’s eyes, mouth like it’s full of sand. “I heard it in a dream.”

Kuroo’s arms fall to his sides, and Bokuto softly eeps. “What do you mean, you heard it in a dream?”

“I mean,” Suga closes his grimoire, hands starting to shake over the leather cover. “I… I heard it in a dream. My subconscious knew it before I did.”

“But…” Kuroo’s eyebrows knit together, Kenma and Bokuto sharing a similar concern. “That’s not… What? You must have seen it in the grimoire,” Suga shakes his head, Kuroo’s words breathless and turning frantically into disbelief. “You… did you prophesize a spell?”

“Which means that I’ll be using it,” Suga sucks in a breath, trying to cull the nerves, counting to ten before answering, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. “It’s something I needed to know.”

“But it’s mind control?” Bokuto holds his hands out, golden eyes dull and lifeless in their worried gloss. “That’s like, super bad juju, man. That’s chaos magic.”

“But it’s not,” Suga looks down at his grimoire, stomach churning and twisting, like a part of him is trying to pull itself closer. “All chaos magic is removed from grimoires if the creator is excommunicated. There’s no chaos magic in this book, there can’t be.”

“Maybe it’s not,” Kuroo scratches his eyebrow. “But it’s not black magic. Black magic would implant thoughts or make someone more inclined to do something, not control them.”

“I know,” Suga runs his finger along the spine of the book, drawing little circles, panicked tears beading in his eyes. “But if it isn’t black magic, and it isn’t chaos magic, and it isn’t body magic, then what is it?”

Kuroo blows out air from his cheeks and opens his mouth to speak when the front door kicks open. Kenma yelps and covers his head, Kuroo jumping out of his skin, and Bokuto nearly jumps right into Akaashi’s arms. Oikawa saunters in with kissed-pink lips and dewey eyes, brandishing bags and a huge smile, Iwaizumi entering behind him with his hands casually in his pockets, his eyes a similar red despite the loving smile on his lips. Oikawa looks around at everyone, ignoring their concern, their worry, their tears, and shoots them all a smug smirk only he could pull off.

“Alright witch bitches, who’s ready to sacrifice my boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I don't explain the symbolism I use, but this isn't a spoiler so I can! 
> 
> Salt: purifies and protects from evils, especially black salt, can also represent rebirth and balance  
> Witch-hazel: symbol for magic spells  
> Thorn-apple: symbol of disguise  
> Hyssop (not mentioned but still used in the potion): symbol of sacrifice  
> Kyanite: stone that promotes tranquility and communication  
> Jade: stone that promotes gentleness and nourishment  
> Obsidian: stone that's known for its strength, ability to draw out mental stress, and exploring the unknown  
> Rose quartz: stone that represents eternal love and inner healing


	19. Cover Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder of the content warning for some parts!
> 
> Chapter Song: Cover Me by Starbenders

Suga shivers through his robe despite it being only 67 degrees, but there’s a breeze that just won’t leave him alone. A short, repetitive gust that fundamentally chills him to the bone. It’s stepping into lukewarm water, or the beach in April, or the mountain peaks. It’s the eyes of witches overlooking them, watching them, and the forest shifting around them in tandem to his own anxiety.

“Why are we doing this at one in the morning?” Iwaizumi yawns, sitting off to the side of the small, flat clearing they had found to set up in. 

Suga rips a tear in the top of the salt bag and stops, staring down at it with his bottom lip in between his teeth. He’s seen this before, the clearing, the salt. It’s just another piece of evidence that his dreams are much more than they seem. He looks around the clearing, a simple design popping into his mind as his hands begin to work.

Oikawa takes a seat next to Iwaizumi, and lines up the silver goblets they had found in one of the dusty cabinets they never open, waving around the dagger as he talks.

“Because it’s moonrise. The Light operates with the sun, and the Dark operates with the moon, keep up, Iwa,” Iwaizumi nervously follows the knife in Oikawa’s hands with his eyes, and Suga looks down at his work, moving around small lines to compliment the thick ones.

“Alright, so we have the hyssop, check,” Bokuto reads over the list, Kuroo holding up the bags. “Witch hazel bark and leaf, check and check,” Kuroo shows them off like a game show model, robe sleeves flapping against his body as he moves. “Jade, kyanite, obsidian, rose quartz- is Iwa really representative of love?” Oikawa and Iwaizumi glare at him, and he backs off. “And, the main ingredient, the mortal.”

“How are the salt lines coming along, Suga? We have to start in a few minutes,” Kuroo calls as he passes the ingredients off to Oikawa.

“Almost done,” Suga steps over the lines, the white pure in the light of the moon. 

There’s enough moonlight to see their work, but Kuroo and Bokuto insisted on setting up a few floating flame “torches”, just for extra light. Oikawa immediately agreed, dead set on getting everything right the first time so they don’t have to do it again. Oikawa starts to fill the goblets with carefully measured amounts, and Bokuto turns towards them.

“Okay, Iwaizumi, time to strip,” Bokuto puts his hands on his hips, looking down at Iwaizumi with the authority of a thousand doms.

Iwaizumi almost gulps. “What?” 

“You don’t want a hole in your shirt, do you?” Bokuto’s brow furrows, innocence lacing his words. “And blood is a bitch to wash out of clothing, my sisters taught me and there’s like, all this warm water cold water shit you have to go through and it’s just too much to deal with.”

No one says anything after that, just a few blinking stares as Suga finishes the circle while Iwaizumi takes off his shirt. Oikawa instinctively reaches up to touch his arm, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes with the softest gaze he can muster. Suga steps back, nodding proudly.

“Done.”

“What the hell is that?” Kuroo steps up to the circle, eyes shifting between Suga and his work.

“It’s a sub rosa circle,” Suga says with absolute certainty. “It means under the rose in Latin, and it’s an untested boost for disguise rituals that I saw my dream self do in a dream, and,” He catches himself, eyes going wide as he meets Kuroo’s gaze. “Shit.”

“See,” He begins softly, sternly. “That’s not a prophecy, that’s a full blown secret.”

“I,” Suga stammers, dropping the bag of salt, opting to cover his mouth with his palms. When _did_ he learn this? His dream self sure as hell didn’t tell him that, but he _was_ making salt roses throughout a few of their meetings. Kuroo’s right, this isn’t prophetic, this is being fed information in his sleep. 

And where was it coming from?

A breeze trickles through the trees, and with it, his own voice.

_Good job, Koushi, I am so very proud of you._

A small squeak escapes his throat, and his legs wobble. This isn’t a prophetic dream. All the times his dream self was making a salt circle, it was leading up to this exact moment. But wouldn’t that make it prophetic? Wouldn’t that mean he had seen the future and this was it?

But then how did he know it was untested?

“We’ll figure that out later,” Oikawa butts in, leaving his phone and Iwaizumi’s shirt in the box they carried the goblets and ingredients out in. “We need to start this at moonrise, and it’s getting close. I am not waiting another night to do this.”

“Right,” Suga nods, his unsteady voice failing him.

Kuroo’s regard lingers on Suga’s being, eyes narrowed in pure, calculated analysis. The same look he would wear if he were inspecting a science experiment, or a threat. Something that might blow up in his face, and definitely something dangerous.

Suga stares down at his hands, his tongue heavy and dry as it rests in his mouth. Bokuto holds out the stones and the goblets, and Oikawa directs Iwaizumi into the circle.

“Okay, you ready Iwa?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says flatly, trying not to step across the salt lines. “But let’s just get this over with.”

Oikawa leans down and places a gentle kiss on his cheek, whispering something that Suga can’t quite make out into his ear. Iwaizumi calms instantly, his shoulders slumping as Oikawa pulls back with a small smile. Iwaizumi closes his eyes and nods, his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. Another gentle, tender kiss, and Oikawa steps back, returning his attention to the coven.

Everyone looks on in understanding; tonight is the night.

“Alright, everyone take one,” Bokuto offers the stones, Oikawa plucking out the rose quartz, Kuroo diving for the kyanite, Bokuto taking the jade into his left hand, and Suga reaches out for the remaining obsidian. 

The goblet is heavy in his left hand, the stone somehow heavier in his numb right. It’s smooth, and he immediately rubs his thumb along the surface, taking in every side, edge, nook, and cranny. Mapping out the stone as if it’s his own, the base of his being and energies. It’s bland, normal, almost bleak with how entirely ordinary it is. But it’s a stone they’ll take a life with.

It’s made the coven nervous, as the realization started to dawn on everyone one by one throughout the day. Suga came to terms with it sometime in between Iwaizumi becoming immortal and finding out the truth behind the ritual’s ingredients. Almost as if he always knew that immortality meant becoming flimsy with death. Iwaizumi was dead the moment he became immortal, damned to take the hit that many can’t, and fear above all else.

Akaashi had told Bokuto that taking a life is something to fundamentally respect, which ended in Bokuto having to come home from work early due to all the mistakes he was making while letting his mind wander. Then Kuroo had completely shut everyone out of his soap room, unable to even look at Iwaizumi until now. Lastly, Oikawa broke down as he ran his hand through Iwaizumi’s hair while they fed the plant more salt water, just to watch it revive. 

But this isn’t a plant, this is the life of a friend, an innocent mortal, part of their extended coven. With how much his own stomach is churning without the distraction of the adrenaline of his own survival and a bleeding Akaashi by his side, he can only imagine how terrible Oikawa and Iwaizumi must feel. How everyone else feels. How it feels to face life and taking a life head on.

“Alright, everyone in position,” Kuroo orders, taking the southern point, setting his cup down at his feet.

Oikawa steps into the nearest direction, the west, Bokuto moving into east, and Suga takes the final direction in the north. He shivers one last time as he sets the cup down at his feet, the metal reflecting the image of himself, staring right through him. Everyone looks to Oikawa, who had offered (very forcefully) to lead the ritual, just to make sure everything goes according to plan.

Iwaizumi takes a seat on the floor, holding his arms crossed over his chest, looking small and exposed in the span of the circle. He’s just out of reach of everyone, and there’s enough space between each witch to fit another person’s wingspan. 

Everyone is just out of reach of each other, covering their own direction in their own small sliver of controlled domain. Oikawa looks up, watches the moon overhead, and closes his eyes with a deep breath.

Everything stills, just for a second of blissful silence. The breeze halts, and the wild night symphony dulls to bow heads and pay respects. It’s almost eerie, and for just a passing moment in his endless crisis, Suga feels safe. Safe among the coven. Safe among the trees.

It takes Oikawa another long second to move, to convince himself to start, to commit. He brings his chin down, his chest rising and falling with the idle breeze, leaves rustling above them. The branches shake and shudder, like the trees themselves are quivering before the coven that they might be next, or perhaps shifting with the weight of the spirits.

“Alright,” Oikawa opens his eyes, the blue shining brighter than they ever have before, almost nearing cerulean in how vividly they pierce through the thick of the night. “Let’s do this.”

He holds his hands out in front of him, almost like he’s cupping water in his palms, the rose quartz resting in the middle. Kuroo’s eyes deepen to a scarlet, his fingers and thumbs openly touching each other to form a triangle, the kyanite squeezed between his fingertips. Bokuto moves next, the whites of his eyes fully enveloping the iris and pupil, almost unsettling in how it seems to glow with a backlight, his palms facing outwards and linking his thumbs with the stone resting on top and between the platform his thumbs have created.

Suga lets his own eyes manifest, the familiar short sting of magic physically making itself known burning through his irises. He knows the color of these eyes, since he’s seen it outwardly so many times before. The closest he can describe them is amethyst, maybe lilac, not the dark, dark purple that laces their robes, but the soft natural purple of the earth itself. He holds his palms out, almost painfully flat, touching his pinkies and palms together and keeping his fingers straight.

There were many ways to match the elements to the directions, and this specific ritual had the west as water, the south as fire, the east as air, and the north as earth. Healing of the body, passion of the heart, imagination of the mind, and the grounding of the spirit.

“O Mother of Earth,” Oikawa speaks clearly and confidently, just like he had practiced and memorized and run through time and time again, but the words reverberate, almost as if the sky is whispering it back. “Please aid us in our ritual, and as we stand in Your presence, we make an offering,” His eyes travel over Iwaizumi, voice hardening. “The offering of mortal blood, a mortal life, as to assimilate the properties of mortal life force as if our own. May You bless us with success, and pardon the blood we take. Hail be upon Thy Mother.”

“Our Mother,” Everyone repeats, and the moonlight enhances around them, illuminating the thick of the forest in a soft, pale glimmer. 

Everyone looks at each other, nodding, infusing each other with confidence. Arms stiffen, and Suga’s muscles start to ache with the unnatural position. He needs to hold this, needs to keep the position with the obsidian resting in his palms, for everyone’s sake. This ritual could mean preserving their very survival, and nothing could matter more to him right now.

It’s a place where the nightmares cease to exist, where he is his own. It’s a moment where his coven bonds, hearts and energies reaching out to each other to connect and bond. He can feel Oikawa’s stale worry, Kuroo’s ignited protection, and Bokuto’s light love. He adds in his own energy, flashes of amethyst burning in the back of his mind.

“With our blessing we begin,” Oikawa starts again, holding his arms straighter towards Iwaizumi, who is looking around, seemingly taking everything in with frenzied wonder. “Purify this blood and life for the taking, may it see safe passage through the tainted veil. We shall take some for us, and offer the rest to the Earth, Our Mother.”

“Our Mother,” Three voices join in, the stone in Suga’s hand heating up as his magic flows into it, bathing Iwaizumi in cleansing energy.

Iwaizumi shifts in his spot, slow at first, limbs going twitchy as he gives a small pained gasp. It’s choked, muffled, confined within his own skin. His skin starts to redden, much like a fever, or perhaps the blood itself boiling clean, sweat visibly forming on his brow. He clenches his fists, squeezing his eyes shut to bear with the pain.

But this is purification magic, the same kind of magic used to purify tainted blood back to a virgin state before names are pledged. The strain increases, and he lets out a short, loud yelp, banging his fists on the ground to let it all out. He grabs at the ground, taking fistfuls of salt and clumps of dirt into his hands and letting it crumble between his fingers. The coven wavers a bit at the reaction, the salt having broken, but the outer rim is still strong, still fortified, and the inner design is all to further the effect. 

Iwaizumi screams.

It’s a horrible, wailing cry. A wordless cry for god’s mercy, mercy of the witches, mercy of the earth at Her very core to free him from this pain. Strangled, guttural, torn from the fabric of his being and expelled like an exorcist’s demon.

“Hyssop, thorn-apple, witch hazel, and mortal blood, may you create this disguise, bind and cloak, and keep us safe,” Oikawa speaks over another sharp scream as the obsidian starts to burn. Iwaizumi writhes on his back, hands pulled up close to his body and his limbs quaking, more pained whimpers falling freely from his lips. “Bring the blood to our goblets and let the rest feed Your children. May this mortal not-” His voice cracks as Iwaizumi pitifully calls out for him, hopelessly begs him to just end it, just end it all. “Not die in vain.”

The screams subside, and Iwaizumi trembles and shakes on the ground, shuddering in the fetal position as Oikawa grabs the knife off of the ground at his feet. Everyone holds the position, the absence of water to be replaced with the promise of blood, and Suga watches as the knife shakes in his hands.

It must be awful, and Suga doesn’t want to watch, but his head is locked in place as if two hands are forcing his neck. Cold hands, stiff and dead, long dead, lost to the breeze. Cold hands forcing him to watch as if to say that if it wasn’t Iwaizumi, it could have been him.

Oikawa’s legs are jelly, barely able to support his own weight as he sluggishly makes his way towards Iwaizumi. His face is twisted in apologetic regret, body kneeling over Iwaizumi’s center. Iwaizumi squirms under him, tears beading in his eyes and running down the sides of his face as he tries to grab at Oikawa’s shirt.

Even a welcome death will fight. 

Oikawa grabs the hilt of the dagger with both hands and holds it in front of him, as if deciding what the best way to kill is. He’s sobbing, cerulean eyes dampened with the burden of memory, soaking in the image before him. Iwaizumi does his best to expose his chest, hands instinctively trying to push Oikawa off of him. He’s shivering, weak, whimpering like a wounded animal accepting its place among prey.

“I’m sorry, Iwa,” Oikawa pushes out an apology so quiet that it barely even qualifies as a breath, and jaggedly drags the blade across Iwaizumi’s neck.

Suga’s first thought is about how wet it is, how much the sound just _squelches._ There’s a rattling sputter, damp and hot, from Iwaizumi’s mouth and throat, the sound whistling out in thick, fleshy chokes. The heavy scent of iron and copper that fills the air smells like that day in Kobayashi’s house, the memory bringing tears to his eyes. 

Another life, no matter how temporarily gone, has been taken by his outstretched and willing hands.

The blood flows in a fountain spray, some of it shooting upwards, floating and hanging midair, other sputters weakly lapping at his chest and painting the ground. The floating blood separates into four long tendrils from the source, wiggling through the air to fill the silver goblets with a swirling crimson. Iwaizumi starts to convulse from the shock under Oikawa’s weight, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and back arching off of the floor like the moon itself is trying to pick him up on a string.

The tendrils fall flat as soon as the cups fill to the brim, layers and clumps of darkened unskimmed powders floating on the surface. Suga wrinkles his nose at the sight, the taste already imprinting itself in the back of his throat. His stomach lurches at the thought of swallowing a single sip, let alone the whole goblet.

Iwaizumi’s movements start to slow, shallow out, going from a panicked frenzy to a weak fight. His hands, however, stroke along Oikawa’s legs, his hips, his arms. They travel upwards, grab at the flesh, weakly pet the skin. Oikawa is cupping Iwaizumi’s face, hands dragging through his hair, his eyes speaking everything that the ritual doesn't allow for. 

A twig snaps to his left, and a body drops to its knees out of the corner of Suga’s eye. All heads snap to face it, eight eyes meeting six, two of them particularly wide as they stare into the very center of Suga’s being.

Suga gasps in horror, body locked in place as the eyes travel over him, hands digging into the soft, fertile earth at the edge of the clearing. His mouth dries, releasing an incredulous sob as his heart clenches, chest too tight to breathe.

_Daichi._

-

“Remind me why we’re here this late?” Daichi yawns, his legs like lead from having worked a full shift and spent the past hour walking around the empty forest.

The exhausted anger hasn’t fully set in yet, but he’d definitely punch Tanaka if the opportunity presented itself.

“Not my fault that the diner closes so late.”

“Yes,” Daichi tries to remember all the times he’s practiced impeccable self restraint. “You are. You’re the owner and the manager. It is very much your fault.”

“Well, it’s also because there’s always something weird, something sus, going on here at this time of night,” Tanaka waves the flashlight around, only getting a free pass because he looks significantly more tired than Daichi feels. “You know that witches were hung-”

“Hanged,” Nishinoya and Daichi correct in unison. 

_”Hanged,”_ Tanaka mocks, yawning into his elbow. “Here in the 18th century? Like, way way after the whole Salem thing. Which, by the way, was something Suga hated learning about in school.”

“Alright, that’s another point for the witch column,” Nishinoya nods. “I think we’re even on what he is. But since I’ve seen him sink in water, and I know he’s not lighter than a chicken, I think we might be winning with the demon diagnosis.”

“It’s not a competition-” Daichi starts, only for Tanaka to butt in.

“Whoa, dude,” Tanaka looks up at the sky. “Is the sky like, getting brighter or some shit?”

Daichi looks up, watching as the moonlight comes out from behind a broad blanketing of clouds, basking the woods and branches above in a pale silver gleam. It almost makes the sky look like a reflective pool, with how watery and _surreal_ the silver shines. The trees turn ashy, outlined in halos, and he shivers at the sight, the hair on his arms standing on edge. 

It’s like a thousand eyes are watching him, coiling around him like a snake about to strike.

“Can we just, like, not talk about this for once?” He returns his attention to the ground, careful not to step in an anthill, rubbing the goosebumps away. “How about a normal conversation?”

“Oh, yeah?” Tanaka waves the flashlight around as Nishinoya starts singing the Mission Impossible theme song while jumping from log to log. “Alright, a normal conversation. Lead the way, Dadchi.”

Daichi presses his lips into a line, unamused, but continues. “Well, my sister called me again.”

“Oh? Big little sis or little little sis?” Nishinoya grabs onto Tanaka’s arm as he starts to lose his balance. 

“Little little, Aoi,” Daichi can’t help but smile. “She’s coming up to visit with my mom one day.”

“That’s great! Bring them to the diner, I’ll give half off.”

“Isn’t that just the same as the employee discount?”

“Good man,” Tanaka nods, and they pass a very familiar looking rock with a footprint on it. He jumps in the air and points as if to accuse it of a crime. “Ah!”

Daichi flinches, and Nishinoya “ooh”s at the rock, taking a picture. He kicks his foot up and makes another footprint, the track matching exactly. Daichi’s eye twitches, and Tanaka and Nishinoya high-five.

“So we’ve just been walking in a circle?” Daichi clenches his fists. “Why are we even out here?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tanaka wags his finger, and points to the rock. “We have been walking in a straight line, and yet, here we are, walking in circles. It’s evidence that these woods change and move! Isn’t that cool?”

“Cool?” Daichi spins around, his heart rate starting to quicken as the edges of his vision blur. “Fuck, no, it’s not, Tanaka, how do we get out of here?”

“Jeez, Daichi, calm down,” Nishinoya sits on the rock, massaging his calves. “We don’t pose a threat, so we’ll be able to leave.”

“What do you mean ‘be able to’?” Daichi tries to stand up straight, breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. His mouth is unbelievably dry, and his lungs start to hurt as he tries to suck in the air that struggles to come. 

“Whoa, man,” Tanaka reaches up and hovers his hand over Daichi, waiting for permission to touch him. Daichi gives a weak nod, and Tanaka reassuringly pats him on the back. “Take it easy, okay? We’ll skedaddle soon, there’s not much out here anyways.”

He takes in a breath, unsure of how his voice will sound.

“Thanks,” He whispers, his legs growing heavier.

Tanaka pulls out a compass, and flicks it with his finger, the needle idly spinning before falling limp. “Alright, come on,” He gives a small frustrated noise, and shakes it vigorously. “This dumb thing broke recently.”

“Oh, for real?” Nishinoya plucks it out of Tanaka’s hands, trying to throttle it into cooperation. “Damn, that sucks.”

Daichi opens his mouth to ask who the hell goes into the woods with a broken compass, but a sharp yell of pain echoes through the trees, whistling through the leaves and branches as a breeze whips past them. His mouth clamps shut, drier than before, and Tanaka and Nishinoya share in their looks of horror.

“It’s just the wind,” Tanaka reasons, eyes nearly comically wide. “That was just the wind.”

“Ryu,” Nishinoya starts, his voice low. “Last time we heard a scream in the woods, it was Suga attacking Ennoshita, right? So, if there’s another scream…”

Tanaka gulps, and shines his flashlight in the direction of the scream. A longer, steadier cry blows in with the breeze, and Daichi turns around, legs wobbly and muscles clenched in _fear._ Pure, untouched fear, not the fear that comes with general anxiety, or the fear of watching a horror movie alone, but unfiltered and desperate _fear_ that makes him want to run and never look back.

Run, but his legs are too heavy. Too weak. Too frozen in place as the pained yelling pushes around them, a breeze coming in from the opposite direction so strong that Nishinoya stumbles forward a few steps.

“What the fuck,” Daichi whispers, his vocal cords moving without the help of his head. Words spoken from the heart, from the stomach, from the rattle of his bones. “What the _fuck_ is that.”

It’s not a question, not a request. It’s a demand for an answer. It’s every fiber of his being calling at him to run, run until he gets what he came for or gets away while he still can. Hide, find, cower, hunt. One foot steps forward, a drive that goes against everything his encoded nature tells him to, his other foot glued to the floor, twisting in his want to run.

Another step forward, his heart crawling up into his throat. Another scream, and another breeze from the back, the trees rustling overhead like a path to freedom. _Go,_ it teases, _follow it, go now or else you’ll never know the truth._

“Daichi-” Tanaka takes a few steps forward, staring down at his own feet. “What the fuck.”

“I think the wind wants us to go,” Daichi says, voice strained, muddled in his own ears over the growing roar.

“And you’re just gonna?”

“Is it like we have a choice?” Daichi staggers forward like someone’s pushing him, like cold hands pressed against his back in a shape he’s felt many times before.

Over his shoulder, a glint of purple hangs in the treetops. Violet, or perhaps even an amethyst. It’s comforting, in a way, the color washing over him like a hot bath, or like his mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup when he was sick as a kid. It’s warm, and the wind beckons, his heavy legs carrying him as he leads the group towards an orange flicker in the distance.

The screaming gets louder, and Daichi’s blood curdles. 

He knows that voice, that pitch, the owner of the scream. He can’t place it, but it’s so shockingly and chillingly familiar that he chokes on his own air. An awful sound, so primal and full that his only instinct is to cover his ears, but the wind swats his hand away.

“-ing the blood to our goblets and let the rest feed Your children. May this mortal not-” A voice cracks through tears, swallowing the sound. “Not die in vain.”

The screaming turns into whimpers, and the trio reach the outer edge of the clearing, the wind stopping so suddenly that his own inertia almost knocks him over. It’s shocking, to say the least, to look past the faint orange glow and the heat of the floating flames that hover and flicker a few feet in the air.

To look past the _floating flames_ and see a circle of robed individuals with glowing eyes, the one in the center wielding a knife as thick, fluid crimson ropes travel through the air. He gags softly at the smell of blood that hangs heavy in the air, the sound of wet gurgles, but chokes it down. It’s so much worse than he thought, but somehow what he expected entirely.

He doesn’t even gasp when he sees the warm violet.

The ropes, no, _blood,_ fills the cup at Suga’s feet, his face looking on in pure disgust as he holds his palms out firmly. In the center, Oikawa wipes his tears and snot on his robe, Iwaizumi going lifeless, _lifeless,_ beneath him. His weak shushes and sputters fade out, and Daichi can’t help but drop in wholly deserved exhaustion.

The fall alerts the glowing eyes, and Daichi locks onto those violet eyes he’s seen only in nightmares and the corners of his own imagination, heard even more about. It’s different from the dream, these eyes boiling in equal _fear._ Blue eyes puffy with tears, grey eyes laced with worry, and red eyes so livid they might just strike him down right then and there.

Suga’s mouth falls open and Daichi can see _it._ See the traces of his Suga in that expression, which makes it all the harder to stomach. He digs his fingers into the dirt, trying to grasp at anything other than the reality of what’s in front of him, a sob slipping from Suga’s lips as his hands waver from their stiff position.

His body moves like he’s going to step over the line, and Oikawa damn near hisses at him, rage pooling in the deep blue. “Suga, I swear to any fucking god that’s listening, if you cross that salt line I _will_ make you pay for it.”

The words are so powerful and commanding, so full of promise that the reverberations in his chest hit Daichi like a brick, bringing Tanaka and Noya to their knees behind him. Suga’s eyes drift over Oikawa in unreadable swirls, the unease deepening. 

“Oikawa-” He squeaks, eyes drifting back to Daichi.

“We have to finish this,” Oikawa chokes, crawling off of Iwaizumi’s body, eyes fueled with determination. “We have to drink, for I-Iwa.”

The hands drop, everyone reaching down to hoist the goblet in front of them, Oikawa standing up to complete the circle. They all look down in mutual distaste, and Daichi knows full well what’s inside. He saw the blood lines, he knows that it’s _Iwaizumi’s_ blood, and that doesn’t make it any easier to wrap his head around.

Suga is standing in the middle of the woods, robed, in the salt circle he had seen in his dream, holding a goblet of fresh human blood. He lifts the goblet to his lips, and Daichi can feel the warmth and life drain out of his face, down his neck, cowering in the center of his being as he sips.

He pulls back and squeezes his eyes shut with a shudder, Bokuto’s back spasming as he coughs. Kuroo tries to down it all in as few sips as possible, face twisted as he empties his portion. Oikawa, however, seems to be going through the worst of it, his eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s body as he brings the goblet to his lips, and hesitates.

“Fucking drink, Oikawa,” Kuroo orders through gross pants. “You talk big but you actually need to drink the damn thing.” Kuroo empties his cup and drops it, letting it roll away. His head turns towards Daichi, upper lip painted in crimson. “And you three,” His voice is low and gravelly, dangerous, commanding a presence. “What the fuck are we going to do with you?”

“Let them-” Suga retches into the sleeve of his robe, eyes watering as he gasps for air. “Leave them alone, I’ll-” He cringes into himself. “I’ll deal with them.”

The words are cold, but not lifeless. They’re not words from the Suga he knows, but then again, with what he’s watching, hands dug into the dirt like roots, eyes wide, his consciousness locked into a body he can’t operate, what Suga _does_ he know? The one he met on the street and instantly fell for? The one who listens to his rants and complaints without an ounce of annoyance? The one who tries and tries again to please him, dead set on being a good lover? The one he grew to _love_ more and more over time?

There are so many different Sugas that he’s met, but at the end of the day, they all make up the same person. 

But this Suga… this isn’t Suga. This is a new monster entirely. Or maybe it’s just a Suga he has yet to meet. The thoughts tear at his skin, at his insides. Which Suga is the real one? Or are they both real?

Suga finishes off his drink with an ugly cough, holding a hand over his stomach as his bleary eyes focus back on Daichi, shame riddling his features. It breaks Daichi’s heart, to see him so small and broken, so defeated. But he can’t bring himself to change his expression, move his body, or do anything to show Suga that he’s not going to run away. 

Bokuto is the third to finish, dropping to his knees and banging his fist on the ground as he writhes in apparent pain. He lays on his back, head dangerously close to Iwaizumi’s corpse, and he slaps his chest, making groaning sounds as he moves to cover his face with his hands.

“That’s awful, oh my god, I’d rather smell Akaashi’s blood.”

Oikawa is the last to finish, shaking his head into his shoulder with his face scrunched up. He drops the cup when he finishes, and doubles over to his knees, eyes squeezed shut as he gasps for breath. The moonlight starts to fade, and all that remains is the vibrant orange of the flames, which burn brighter than before.

The glowing eyes turn to face them, all wide and dewey, piercing through the darkness and light alike. Someone, either Tanaka or Nishinoya, moves behind him, and the _witches_ flinch, a blue haze seeping out of Oikawa’s palms, red flickering dangerously in Kuroo’s eyes.

“Suga, you had a plan?” Kuroo says, hands outstretched like he’s about to attack, not looking away from Daichi. “We could really use one right about now.”

“I don’t know,” Suga’s voice is quiet, unsteady, his limbs starting to shake. “I don’t fucking know what to do!”

“S-” Daichi starts, the name trying to form on his lips. “Suga-”

“Don’t,” Suga shakes his head, holding his finger up. “You’re not supposed to…” He clenches his fists in anger that can only be directed towards himself. “Why now, Daichi?”

The words are broken, hollow in sound but full in meaning. 

Daichi stands up, like his legs want to move on their own, and he shakily steps towards Suga, who takes a step back, eyes fading back to brown as he brings his hands up in defense. Daichi stops, reads the fear, reads the sickened horror on Suga’s face, and stops dead in his tracks.

_He’s scared of you._

The thought alone makes him queasy, all the terror he felt towards the idea of Suga being anything other than human melting away. He’s not the only one allowed to feel scared, and the prospect of explaining _this_ to Daichi must have terrified him. 

Then again, Iwaizumi is _dead_ in that circle. A life, taken, a life that the coven trusted, a life that Oikawa loved.

Could it have been him?

Could it have been _him_ in that circle, _his_ blood they took and gulped down?

The thought freezes him in place, locking his feet to the ground. But the wind returns, like hands on his back, and he stumbles forward, now only a few feet away from Suga’s poor, shaking body.

This isn’t the Suga he knows. This Suga can hurt him. Kill him. This Suga is the same Suga that he met in his dream, dangerous and unchained.

“Stay back, Daichi,” He warns, tripping over his own feet to get away as Bokuto makes open motions to tackle Daichi if need be. “Just stay back, this is- I don’t-” His eyes dart around as if he’s looking for something.

“Suga, do something,” Kuroo says from the left. “Or I will.”

“Why now?” Oikawa adds, exasperated. “Of all fucking times, your boyfriend chooses _now_ to show up?”

“Suga, we should just try talking this out-” Bokuto starts calmly.

“Shut up!” Suga shouts, the air stilling as if the woods itself have obeyed the command. “Just shut the hell up! All of you! I can’t take it anymore!”

“Maybe if we knock them out-” Oikawa suggests.

“No!” Suga protests. “Just, I- What do you want me to do? What the hell do you _want_ from me?”

“I don’t know, but if we don’t do something now, we might be one step closer to being found out,” Kuroo’s eyes fall behind him at Tanaka and Nishinoya.

“We could always try talking-” Bokuto starts again.

The witches start to argue over each other, and Daichi brings his attention back to the body on the floor. It’s most certainly Iwaizumi, his face greying, draining of life. It almost looks like he’s sleeping with how still he is, but there’s a sort of unsettling eeriness to it all. It’s like a wax statue of himself, or a hollow shell, maybe even a husk of what he once was. Everyone speaks over each other, and Tanaka and Nishinoya have unwisely joined in, shouting about how they were right all along and how they need to add all of this to their journal, which sparks an even bigger defensive layer to surround the coven.

_The coven._

They’re actually witches. They’re full blown goddamn _witches._ Witches that mercilessly killed someone they cared about and _drank_ his _blood._ Witches that aren’t _afraid_ to kill. His mind goes back to the tragic story of Kobayashi, self proclaimed witch hunter, and his stomach lurches. 

Is this how they got rid of Kobayashi, too? Did Iwaizumi die because he found out? Was he next? Would he find himself at the mercy of someone so much more powerful than he could ever comprehend, begging for his life and _screaming_ like Iwaizumi had?

_”Sumacorpo,”_ The word comes from Suga, broken and heavy, his ears hungrily feeding on it as his body submits, frozen on the inside in pure shock that he’d ever face such a word again.

“Suga!” Kuroo scolds, and Suga covers his hands with his face, shoulders bouncing up and down. “You!”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Suga cries between his fingers. “What else did you want me to do?”

“You can’t use that spell-”

“I was always meant to use it, Kuroo,” Suga snaps, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair. “The fucking dreams, the fucking word! It was only ever with Daichi,” He breaks down, tears shedding fat and full. “It was first with the coven and Daichi in the woods, Kuroo, I was _always_ meant to fucking use it like this.”

“But this?” Kuroo waves at Daichi and off to the side, presumably at Tanaka and Nishinoya. “Suga, these are your friends, this is _Daichi-”_

“You don’t think I know that?” Suga rubs his eyes, falling into a crouch and grabbing at the dirt. “Fuck! I didn’t want to use it either!”

It’s the same as his dream before, but entirely unhinged. The word, the feeling of waiting, wanting a command, anxiety settling in his heart like Suga’s entire being is trying to squeeze itself into his body. He’s vessel for his own Self, body resting idly, forced to watch as Suga shrugs off Bokuto, flailing his arms around and hitting his thighs.

“I don’t fucking know what I’m doing!” He runs his hands through his hair, sobbing erratically. “I’ve seen this all before! The disappointment, the horror on Daichi’s face! This is my worst fucking nightmare, Kuroo, don’t you dare scold me for using the control spell.”

Suga rides out his emotions, and Daichi patiently sits back on his heels, turning his head to look at the ritual. He can’t move his face enough to express anything, but if he could, it would probably be better than whatever blank, glossy-eyed stare he has right now. Kuroo is watching him intently, eyes flickering between him, Tanaka, and Nishinoya. Oikawa crawls over Iwaizumi and puts his ear on his chest, eyes squeezed shut. Bokuto is trying to comfort Suga, who thrashes him off while trying to breathe.

_Trying to breathe through his nose and mouth._

Suga starts counting his breaths, shaking back down to one, sucking in fragmented pieces as they start to come easier. He turns his head to look at Tanaka, who immediately meets his gaze. Nishinoya is leaning against a tree, body completely frozen but his eyes moving around wildly, like his excitement is trapped in a doll’s body. Tanaka, however, has the most concerned expression Daichi’s ever seen him wear. Serious, lidded in apparent distress.

Oikawa starts sobbing hysterically, a smile clawing at his lips as he sits upright, covering his face with his hands. He starts to laugh through the sobs, and presses back his hairline, face bright red and snot dripping down his chin.

“He has a heartbeat,” He announces, looking up at the sky before looking back down at Iwaizumi’s stony face. “Small, very small, but it’s there.”

Bokuto gives a small cheer, but no one’s listening, Kuroo and Suga still locked in stare.

“So,” Kuroo’s voice is sour, ignoring the good news that Iwaizumi isn’t actually dead. “We have three mortals jacked up on chaos magic, what now?”

“It’s not chaos magic!” Suga defends with an accusatory point, Bokuto now moving behind him to massage Suga’s shoulders.

“Then what is it, Suga?” Kuroo motions at him. “What else could mind control possibly be? Look at them! They’re just sitting there like fucking dolls! This is manipulation of free will, and the Earth is _not_ going to like that.”

“It’s not,” Suga wipes his eyes, the tear trails immediately replaced. “I swear, it’s not. It’s body magic, it’s just body magic.”

“Then what-”

“I don’t know!” Suga picks up and throws a clump of dirt and salt. “I don’t fucking know how I know, but it’s not chaos!”

He looks at Daichi again, and Bokuto tenses up behind him like he’s been shocked. His mouth hangs open, eyes shining in the light of the flames, “Suga, calm down. Let’s just all talk this out as a group, okay? I’m sure they have questions they’d like answered, too.”

Suga’s shoulders slump, eyes glaring at Kuroo as Oikawa pets Iwaizumi’s hair next to him. He looks back at Daichi, defeated, and nods. It’s a horrible thing, that defeat. Built from despair, true horror, and regret. It’s a broken defeat, defeat that’s been a long time coming and a nightmare contained within itself.

It’s the answer Daichi needed, but didn’t want. Never wanted. Has to accept, but first has to swallow and stomach.

“This’ll be better somewhere safe. Somewhere away from here. Where we’re all comfortable. Why don’t we just go back to the house,” Suga’s words get quieter as he continues, eyes darting between his three dolls, but the last sentence bounches through his brain.

“Yes,” Daichi hears his own voice in his ears, but the word is bland and foreign. Behind him, Tanaka and Nishinoya chime in their flattened approval. Tears start to well up in his eyes, the familiar sense of his body wanting what his mind doesn’t overpowering him. 

No, this isn’t like the dream spell. There, he was able to talk, controlled only in body, tied to a sense of calmness that Suga had carried with him. This control is panicked, frenzied, and entirely controlled by instability. The tears fall freely without a burn, the only expression that’s truly _him_ that his body will allow.

“Oh, fuck,” Suga looks down at the floor, mouth tart like he just swallowed his own tongue. “That’s not right, nothing about this is right.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it now, Suga,” Bokuto mutters, giving him a few pats on the back. “If you were always meant to use that spell here, then maybe this was meant to happen, too. What do you want to do?”

“Go to the house, explain everything,” Suga starts, looking everywhere except Daichi’s teary face. “Fuck, this is so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Bo, I was supposed to just bring it up casually, show something small instead of,” He motions around the clearing. “This.”

If Daichi could hug Suga, he would. Hold him close, wash everything away. Let Suga lose himself in the warmth like he has many times before. It breaks him to see Suga so lost, so unhinged from the composure he usually carries himself with.

It’s a new Suga to him, but it’s one that’s existed for a long time, now. It’s the Suga that exists in his anxiety attacks, and his worry. In his aversion to the “good witches'' and the way he unravels at the mere gentle touch of another human.

And Suga’s _never_ been evil.

He needs to remember that. Despite all the secrets and the lying and the whatever the hell he stumbled upon that left Iwaizumi so close to death, he was planning on sharing it one day, and willing to share everything now that he’s been cornered. It makes Daichi feel awful, for being the one to corner him, the one who thought the fear of his secret getting out only went one way. Being a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He can freak out about this later.

“I know, I know,” Bokuto stands up, offering a hand to Suga. “But it did happen,” He eyes Kuroo in a way that makes Daichi never want to get on his bad side. “And no one is going to say another goddamn thing about _any_ thing.”

“I just don’t think that using the possible chaos spell is a good idea,” Kuroo retorts. “That’s a spell that can get him killed, do you want that? You do know that people get executed for chaos magic, right?”

“And that’s why no one is going to say anything,” Bokuto returns, unfazed, brushing Suga’s clothes off. Suga’s face reads in layers of regret at the mention of chaos magic executions. “There you go, Suga, all clean...ish.”

“Thanks,” Suga whispers, trying to smooth down his hair but only succeeds in adding a fine layer of dirt. “It’s not chaos, it’s body magic. It’s…” Suga sighs. “I’m not my mom, Kuroo, I’m not using chao- I’m…” He looks down at his hands. “I cannot believe the first spell I use on them is _this.”_

The motions towards them and lets his hand drop to his side. He bites his lip and takes a few steps closer, Daichi looking up at him without a single ounce of fear in his body. This is a Suga he knows. And despite the robe, and the long-faded purple eyes, and the blood-drinking, something in the wind is telling him that he _needs_ to trust everything that comes out of his mouth.

“I am so sorry, Daichi,” He begins, voice breaking, reaching out to touch him but falling short. “I am so so sorry, and I know that saying that isn’t nearly enough or what you deserve right now,” He puts his hands on Daichi’s shoulders, his hands so cold they almost don’t feel real. “But it is _so_ important right now that you three know that we are going to go back to the house, and that we are going to explain things like we should have done so long ago.”

“You know we couldn’t have,” Kuroo starts picking up the cups, putting them away into a box with a handful of colorful rocks, hoisting it up into his arms. Bokuto and Oikawa use their outstretched, glowing palms to lift Iwaizumi’s body off the ground and let it float through the air. “How are we going to keep these blabbermouths from sharing shit with the town? With the Light running around? Our safety is more important than mortal acceptance.”

“I don’t know, but I trust them,” Suga puts a hand on his forehead, fanning his face with the other. “And you are being so insensitive to all of this!”

“I am trying to make sure this coven doesn’t get murdered by Light witches,” Kuroo bites back. “It’s not just _your_ little romance and friends, I am not living in _Suga-world._ I am looking out for the safety of the coven, which includes more than just you.”

Kuroo turns on his heel, stops, sighs, and turns back with vaguely apologetic eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know this is hard on you, I get that. But you understand how dangerous this is, right? Every person that we get involved is in danger, including them, now,” He gestures towards Daichi with his head. “Not to mention you’re doing dubious-at-best magic that could get _you_ killed and _everyone else_ in this coven penalized,” Kuroo angrily huffs, and starts walking off into the trees. “We’ll sort this out as a coven.”

“Look, Suga,” Oikawa starts, his index and middle fingers pressed together and pointing upwards, Iwaizumi floating like he’s been put in water. “We’ll figure all of this out, okay? Daichi finding out was always a long time coming, you know that. It was even written in the cards,” His lips twitch into a frown, and he looks around at the trio. “Who else knows?”

No one responds, and Suga repeats the question.

“Ennoshita and Asahi,” The three say in Greek chorus level unison, and Oikawa sighs. 

“Can’t be helped, then,” He starts pulling Iwaizumi’s body closer to him, guiding it through the trees. “Suga, you know what you have to do. Kuroo is just angry that the Light hurt Kenma, and doesn’t want them to hurt anyone else. But if you trust everyone, then I’ll trust them, too. We’ll figure out the right way to confront this.”

Bokuto doesn’t say anything, gives Suga a lingering look, lip fit in between his teeth as he follows Oikawa out. Suga nods to himself and stands up straight, legs still a little wobbly. He walks over to the circle, kicking a line through the salt to buy himself time, the orange flames dissipating with the snap of his fingers. He turns around and forces himself to look at them, Daichi’s bones begging to heed his oncoming words.

“Okay,” It’s shaky, reaffirming. “Okay, Nishinoya, I know you have a phone, so delete the pictures you took of the ritual and then text Asahi and Ennoshita to meet us at the house,” Nishinoya immediately does so, Suga resting his hands on his hips as he looks between Tanaka and Daichi. He avoids Daichi’s gaze the most, almost like one look would be enough to break him, but after tonight, Daichi can understand why. Suga licks his lips and continues.

“Tanaka, when we get back, I want you to show me that journal, there’s no way you’d be out here without it somehow tying back to me,” Suga hesitates, and looks down at Daichi, mouth corners pulling down. “And Daichi, just… know that I would never hurt you. Any of you. That my coven wouldn’t ever hurt people like this normally. That this ritual needed to happen because of things I couldn’t possibly tell you without freaking you out.”

Daichi nods, and Suga nods back, cracked lips forming a firm line.

“Okay, come on, then,” He orders, and everyone rises to their feet, Suga looking on in horror. “Okay, this sucks, I didn’t know it would be this awful, but I need to get you all back without it being difficult, uh, talk?”

Daichi opens his mouth to make sound for the sake of making sound, perhaps to reclaim _anything_ that’s of his own free will, but Nishinoya beats him to it.

“What the hell, Suga!” He follows behind Suga like a lost puppy. “You were a _witch_ this whole time?”

“Yeah…” Suga answers, carefully looking around. “But not here, wait until we’re somewhere safe, please?”

Daichi’s face scrunches up in concern, stiff and painful, but the rest of the walk is somewhat quiet, most likely because of Suga’s command to wait. But Suga himself refuses to say anything, every sentence he starts trailing off until it’s nothing more than a breath. It’s almost as if Suga’s terrified that every word solidifies the truth, takes away his comfortable shield of normalcy. But Daichi’s silence isn’t any better, a stunned gag shoved into his mouth. What _could_ he say in this moment?

That he’s scared? That he doesn’t want to end up in the next ritual? That he’s known for longer than Suga’s probably expected, and that he had nightmares of Suga being a witch, casting this exact spell on him?

And what does _that_ mean?

If this is truly the first spell Suga’s cast on him, then how did he have a dream that essentially predicted this whole discovery? And not to mention that he had woken up in a clearing similar to the one the wind had led him to, his little nighttime excursion causing Asahi and Ennoshita to remind him to lock his windows and door at night. Was the whole thing due to other witches casting spells on him, something else? Or is Suga just lying again, hoping to win him over? 

Hoping to distract him from… a murder ritual in the woods. Watching his boyfriend chug a goblet full of blood. Getting a spell used on him that makes him want to follow Suga. Seeing the dead body of someone else’s boyfriend.

Oh god.

This is going to be a lot harder to accept when the adrenaline dies down.

Or right now.

Or-

“Don’t go freaking out on me, Daichi,” Suga says the first calm sentence of the night without turning around, a short line of porch lights that should definitely _not_ be appearing from this direction coming into view. “Breathe.”

He sucks in a breath, whether he likes it or not, and the purple glint leaves him at the treeline. Oikawa and Bokuto stand on the porch and float Iwaizumi’s body through the back door, Oikawa hissing when Bokuto slams Iwaizumi’s head into the frame. Suga helps guide Iwaizumi’s feet through, and lets Daichi, Tanaka, and Nishinoya enter as the door slams shut behind them.

The house seems different, if only a little, the smell of sage wafting through the air, Kuroo telling Akaashi to do something about his appearance, and a plant that looks a little _too_ lively on the table. He’s been here before, many times, been in this room many times, but there’s something off. Something that was hidden. Something right under his nose, on the tip of his tongue, hiding behind his eyelids.

Half of him wants to run, get out of this house, tells him that he doesn’t belong here, but the other half forces him to calm down, take it all in.

_”Null,”_ Suga mutters as confidently as he can manage, and gives them all a once over. Daichi immediately moves to rub at his shaking hands, standing idly and taking in deep breaths. “Okay, you should be free, but I need to test it. Nishinoya, I want you to tell me who stole my waterbottle in third grade.”

“Are you still on that?” Nishinoya snorts, rolling his eyes. “I told you it was Tendou, why do you still think I would steal your stupid waterbottle?”

Suga looks like he’s dissatisfied, and for a brief moment, Daichi wonders if the spell will ever be released.

“The spell is lifted,” Suga takes a step forward then turns back, rubbing his knuckles into Nishinoya’s scalp. “And I know you took it, you little liar.”

“Short jokes?” Nishinoya huffs, fixing his hair. “Stooping a little low, are you?”

“Only for you,” Suga returns, leading them into the living room, shrugging off his robe and passing it to Kuroo.

“So,” Akaashi starts, pausing his movie and sitting up on the couch, something behind him swishing into oblivion with a puff of smoke. He eyes Daichi up and down, chewing on his popcorn as his pupils start to contract and dilate. “I’m assuming things did not go well.”

Oikawa and Bokuto set Iwaizumi down on the floor, Oikawa leaning down to check his pulse. “No, the ritual was fine. We should be powerless by sunrise.”

“And is he…” Akaashi kicks his foot towards Iwaizumi, touching his toes to Iwaizumi’s skin until Oikawa swats it away. “Oh, yeah, he’s dead dead.”

“Only barely,” Oikawa simmers, and Suga pats the seat next to him on the floor. Oikawa and Daichi both step forward, and Suga blows an amused puff of air out of his nose, patting both spots next to him. Daichi takes the one to the right, next to Akaashi, who is now moving chairs from the dining room into the living room for them to sit in, and Oikawa taking the left next to Kuroo. “Daichi, I’m borrowing your boyfriend while mine is indisposed.” 

Suga pulls Oikawa into a tight hug and pats his head fondly, Oikawa’s gaze never wandering far from Iwaizumi’s body, every one of his attempts foiled by an invisible tether. His eyes meander, drift back, meander, then focus on one of Iwaizumi’s features, scanning for any sign of life. Watching. Waiting.

Daichi can get a good look at the _corpse_ in front of him, now that it’s so close, but it’s not like he wants to. It’s horrible, the same way people rubberneck a car crash, hoping to see something terrible but lamenting the fact they want to so badly. 

He’s shirtless, which is odd within itself, but his pants are only dirtied from the forest floor. The remains of the bloody tendrils make half-dried lines across his chest, arms, and neck. Daichi gags a little when he sees the thick, jagged wound across his throat that certainly constitutes death instead of “barely dead”. His face is calm, gently tearstained, very unlike his screams from earlier.

Nishinoya and Tanaka take their seats in the half-circle space between Bokuto and Kuroo. They both sink into themselves as the witches stare, watching for any kind of unsightly behavior, no one daring to break the surface tension for fear of falling into a cold, dark water.

“You know,” Tanaka nervously begins, ripples forming. “I think we should tell them about Ennoshita before he gets here.”

All of the blood in Daichi’s body pools into his feet, which somehow makes them run colder as Tanaka takes the plunge. Kenma files in and sneezes at the atmosphere, all eyes landing on Tanaka. His posture falls, and he scratches his neck, looking down at his feet to nervously play with his shoe. 

No one says anything. Dares say anything. Dares move. Tanaka’s taken the full plunge beneath the surface, and a room full of witches endures like death. It only falters when Akaashi passes around his popcorn before taking a seat, everyone who partook in drinking blood eagerly devouring the taste. 

“I mean, it’s better they get angry now and not while he’s here, right?” His eyes rapidly trace Iwaizumi, his mouth souring with the words as he eyes the wound, probably only now starting to wonder what they might do to someone they didn’t already like. 

“What do you mean?” Suga asks, the words slow and flat with his mouth full. 

“Well, uh,” Tanaka begins, as if he’s trying to find a way to eat the words.

“He’s a witch hunter,” Nishinoya says casually, and Daichi’s entire body shudders, all of the oxygen sapped from the room. “But he’s, like, the information guy. Not the action guy. And he hasn’t shared anything he’s found about you guys.”

He grabs a small handful of popcorn as it passes by him, and even Tanaka looks ready to throttle him with his bare hands for saying it without any such regard.

“Did you just say our neighbor, who we’ve let into our home, is a witch hunter?” Kuroo stares, the crimson spasming in his eyes. They float up to Daichi, and Suga shifts next to him. “That _your_ roommate is a witch hunter?”

“It’s not like I knew,” Daichi finds himself saying, the red steadily burning, and Daichi starts to wonder if truth spells are a real thing. “I didn’t even think Suga was a demon like everyone else did-”

“What?” Suga sputters, looking between the three of them with wide eyes. “Why in the world would you think _I’m_ a demon?”

“Because we weren’t getting anywhere with Akaashi,” Nishinoya points at Akaashi, who looks equally surprised and entirely unbothered. “And you said you were more demon than witch when you attacked Ennoshita.”

“When you what?” Oikawa sits up straight, all eyes tearing away from Nishinoya onto Suga.

“I-” Suga chokes on the word, eyes wide. “I didn’t know for sure, but I think I’ve been sleepcasting a little more than conjuring white roses and flower crowns.”

Daichi almost chokes on the words, his fingers still tingling from when he had plucked the white rose out of Suga’s pocket the day he had his anxiety attack. 

“Suga!” At least three people exclaim at once, Oikawa taking the lead. “That’s the kind of thing you share with us! Last time I sleepcasted? Sleptcast? Sleptcasted? Not important. Last time I casted when sleeping, I injured Iwaizumi and I _immediately_ let the coven know. You _attacked_ a witch hunter? What else are you hiding from us?”

“Nothing!” Suga defends. “You already know everything I do! Prophetic dreams, my weird dream self, what else do you want from me? I didn’t even know I could have _possibly_ been the one to have hurt someone else until I had my giant panic attack at work! When I realized that Tanaka and Nishinoya knew that something with purple eyes attacked him the night I had the first fucking sumacorpo dream!”

Daichi’s heart deflates, the length of time between then and now almost that of an eternity. Countless opportunities to come clean, to share his burdens so that he doesn’t have to experience them alone. His coven is right, what else _is_ he hiding? How much of this was preventable? 

“What we _want_ is for you to be honest,” Kuroo runs his hands through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip. “Suga, you’re finding unofficiated and borderline _forbidden_ spells in your grimoire, you keep having conversations with yourself in your _prophetic_ dreams, you’re becoming an absolute nervous wreck with how little sleep you’re getting, and now you’re attacking people when you do get sleep! Why shouldn’t we be worried about you?”

Suga presses his hands to his cheeks and covers his eyes with his fingers. He rubs his under eyes, pulling at the corners. It’s pained, in more than one way. He nods, slowly at first, then eagerly.

“I’m not hiding anything else,” Suga admits. “I swear.”

There’s a knock on the front door, and Kuroo nods, standing up to answer it. He looks down at Suga, worry twisting and weaving into his features, brow furrowed and lip quivering. It must be hard on everyone, especially after tonight, but it must be harder to have to accept so much at once.

On his own part, he has to accept that witches are real. That magic exists. That his boyfriend spends his free time performing cult-like rituals in the forest. That from what he’s seen with the dreams, the anxiety, and the writhing around in pain, said magic doesn’t seem fun at all.

On Suga’s part, the part of his _coven,_ fear of confronting the obvious. How many weeks has it been since Daichi saw Suga well rested? How many of those weeks were full of anxiety and fear that he was his own monster? Not to mention _dream Suga,_ who he’s had the pleasure of somehow meeting.

It’s confusing, so prickly and uncomfortable he wants to claw all of his own skin off, nothing seeming to fit into place.

Nightmares, dream Suga mentioning that real (if that’s even the right term) Suga had somehow put a piece of himself into Daichi, chaos magic, executions, witch hunters, good witches, bad witches, murder rituals-

It’s enough to make his head spin.

There’s more knocks, and Daichi sucks in a breath. Counts to ten. Lets it fizzle out of his lungs, curl the air around his lips. The room is stiff, in the same way that Iwaizumi lays cold and wounded on the floor, or the way that Daichi's muscles tense so rigidly he might start screaming. It’s uncomfortable, the anticipation, simultaneously hot and cold underneath his skin. Here goes everything, here goes nothing. Time for answers.

The door opens, and Kuroo hesitantly invites Ennoshita and Asahi inside, closing it behind them with a certain finality that locks them all inside. Daichi looks at Suga, and Suga returns the gaze, trying his best to give a reassuring smile.

No turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links! [playlist of chapter songs](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4JHRcDc5DIV96DsIGkxHt5?si=HjDHVeU-T8Wz-mjfXghjpw) [my twitter](https://twitter.com/oikawarights)


	20. when the party's over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka ans vs going one goddamn chapter without making Suga cry
> 
> Chapter Song: when the party's over by Billie Eilish
> 
> Also! A few side notes, the next few updates *might* be a little slower, and I'll try my best to meet my weekly deadlines but don't worry if I miss them by a few days. Just a combination of general life shit, specific life shit, and it's just straight up not a good time for me tbh

“Okay,” Suga watches as Ennoshita sits up after a few minutes of contemplative silence, mouth drying as everyone stares at him. “So let me get this straight.” He moves to point around the circle, staring with Kenma and going around to Iwaizumi. “Witch, witch, witch, witch demon?” Suga can feel himself internally groan at that. “Daichi, witch, witch, and dead.”

“Well,” Akaashi crosses his arms over his chest. “Not exactly, but good try.”

“What did I miss?” He frowns.

“Well, I’m not a demon,” Suga’s eyes float over to Akaashi. “And Kenma’s not a witch… yet. Underage witch, which is still a witch, though. So I guess you’re right…”

A bitter taste crawls up in the back of his throat, and he shovels more popcorn into his mouth, just to keep himself from talking. His gradual sense of self-induced confidence he built on the way home from the ritual site has entirely dissipated, every lingering stare from Daichi like another punch to the throat.

“Not to mention that he just called Akaashi a witch,” Bokuto hikes a thumb up and points it to his left. “He’s the demon.”

Akaashi sniffs, Tanaka and Nishinoya grab and start playfully hitting each other in excitement. Their eyes go wide when Akaashi looks at them before rolling his shoulders a little, letting his features fizzle into existence as everything comes out into the open. Black eyes, tail, claws, and fangs. There’s a sort of pull to his demon form that isn’t there when he’s veiled, one that draws everyone’s gaze to the unnatural inherent beauty of his features. 

Even Bokuto is staring in awe beside him, lips parted and eyes shining like he’s starstruck. 

“That’s what a demon looks like,” Suga gestures, trying too hard not to look at the alluring aura, Akaashi repositioning himself as to not sit on his tail, which swishes contently behind him. “I’d hate to disappoint, but I don’t have any of that.”

“Wait, so, like, demon? A real demon?” Tanaka squeaks, shaking so hard Suga can feel it in the floorboards. Asahi slaps the phone out of Nishinoya’s hand as he raises it up to take a photo, and Tanaka grabs onto his t-shirt. “Oh my god, Noya! Noya! It’s a real fucking demon!”

Nishinoya is stunned speechless, and Akaashi sinks into his chair, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, twirling a piece of hair between his claws. It’s refreshing, to say the least, to watch Bokuto reach his hand up and put it on the armrest of Akaashi’s chair, eyes never leaving the excited pair of mortals. It’s not touching him, but it seems to calm Akaashi immensely, Akaashi’s lips twitching as he looks away.

“This isn’t important,” Kuroo sits back in his chair, Kenma leaning his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. “What’s important is that we start talking about what this entire night means for all of us. You, witch hunter-”

“I have a name,” Ennoshita deadpans. 

“Ennoshita, witch hunter,” Kuroo narrows his eyes. “What do you know about witches?”

“This isn’t some kind of trick, is it?” Ennoshita stares back, the two of them locking in a stare before Ennoshita breaks away with a sigh. “Why don’t we do this, your side can ask a question, we’ll answer, and then we’ll ask a question, and your side will answer.”

“There’s no sides here,” Suga quickly chimes in, leaning forward a little. “This now includes all of us. We’re all on our own ‘side’,” He holds up air quotes. “So please, Ennoshita, what is your understanding of witches? Maybe we can clear some misunderstandings up.”

Like how they thought he was a demon. That’s… he’s not surprised. Not in the slightest.

Ennoshita looks him up and down as if to soak in every tell he might be giving that he’s lying. Suga clenches his jaw, just a little, and Ennoshita gives a small nod, looking down at Iwaizumi’s body. His gaze lingers, as if he’s deciding whether or not telling the whole truth will put him in a similar spot.

And it doesn’t feel good, to be looked at in fear. That even for a few short moments, someone out there fears for their life in his presence, in the presence of the people he trusts most. Does Daichi feel the same way? Because Tanaka and Noya look like they’re having the time of their lives, but Ennoshita and Asahi look ready to flee at a moment’s notice, and Daichi’s inching away.

And every inch feels like another wedge between them.

He turns his attention back to Ennoshita, wanting to take in every word, since this is their first and maybe their only insight as to how witch hunters actually operate and think.

“My parents are hunters, but from what I understand, hunters don’t _hunt_ anymore. They convert bad witches into good witches.”

Everyone stares, disbelief permeating through the room. Kuroo looks at Bokuto, who stares back in confusion, Oikawa perks up next to Suga, and Suga feels his forehead crease. But it’s Kenma who breaks the silence, a small, terrible giggle slipping through his lips as he covers his mouth with his palm. The mortals look at him, and he shakes his head, eyes swirling in amused horror.

“What?” Ennoshita asks, shifting in his chair, resting his head on his elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma sits up straighter, Kuroo keeping him under a hesitant watch. “You really believe that witch hunters don’t hunt anymore? That they’re just spending their time and resources to just, what, convert people over to being ‘good’?”

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking the hunter up and down as if to find any hint of a lie. Ennoshita stares at a spot on the ground in front of him, mouth puckered in slight embarrassment, and Suga knows it’s the truth. Kenma sits forward, his eyes shining in the dark of the room in a way that makes Suga shiver, his gaze so cold and ruthless that it could probably freeze the oceans five times over.

“I was chained up, dragged cross country, forced to make compass tracking spells,” Tanaka and Nishinoya freeze at that last one, Tanaka reaching for his pocket, and Daichi tenses up next to Suga. “And I’m not even a fully committed witch. Image what they would have done to them,” He gestures towards the rest of the group. “You’re a hypocrite to believe that witches are the only evil in this world for doing ‘bad’ deeds when your precious ‘side’ has its evils, too.”

His mouth goes taut after his rant, and the room goes silent, Kuroo reaching up to pull Kenma back into his arms. Suga would be a fool not to notice that his hands are shaking, his eyes clenched shut as Kuroo scratches at his scalp. He leans into the touch, his body starting to relax, his breathing deepening and evening out.

It’s true. 

Even if the witch hunters have good parts and bad parts to their ranks, witches are the same, and if Ennoshita is the outlier, then so is their coven. Sick duality of the earth, coming back again, but it’s enough to get Suga to believe Ennoshita. He’s just a little lost, still, but he’s not a bad person.

Oikawa breaks his attention away from Iwaizumi, and looks at Ennoshita, a frown riddling the bottom half of his face and his brow. “So, Ennoshita, when you say ‘good’ and ‘bad’ witches…”

“I mean that good ones are the ones that do… good… and the bad ones are the ones that have dedicated their lives to Satan-”

Everyone in the room groans, Suga himself throwing his head back with a heavy sigh.

“Is this like, a thing with mortals?” Kuroo looks at Oikawa and Bokuto. “Do they just hear the words Dark One and assume it’s the Christian Lucifer?”

“Dude, I grew up in the south and my neighbors broke their kid’s ouija board in half,” Bokuto shakes his head, blowing air out of his cheeks. “And then threw it into a fire. And then blessed the ashes. And signed the kid up for Sunday school. I have no doubt in my mind that people think witches worship Satan or something.”

“That’s gotta be child abuse,” Kuroo looks on in horror.

“Wait, Dark One?” Daichi squeaks next to him, and Suga blinks a few times, just to get rid of the headache that is the implication that everyone in the room really was operating under the belief that some divine angelic evil had the right to bestow mortals with otherworldly powers.

And that Daichi thought that, and still stayed. Still gave him his all. Still _loved_ him, even if they’re both too scared to admit that to themselves.

“It’s… a title,” Oikawa chimes in, waving his hands around nonchalantly. “Light Ones, Dark Ones, they’re like… the top of the witch government.”

“The _what?”_

“Alright,” Suga sits up straight, sucking in a breath, not wanting another headache. “I got this one. So there’s, like, the earth, right?” He looks around the room to make sure everyone’s following. And they look okay… enough… to go on. “Well, okay, Earth has a _very_ delicate balance, and if it gets too much positive or negative energy, the Earth takes drastic measures to right itself again. Like, miracles get performed if it’s too Dark, plagues and natural disasters sweep through the land if it’s too Light, and witches are in charge of keeping that balance.”

He scans the room again to make sure everyone’s at least grasped the basics, and nods a little, continuing. Even though everyone looks a little… lost. But whatever. They need to move on to talking about more important things, and witch politics isn’t nearly what he wants to get across.

“So, technically, we _are_ a ‘Dark’ coven,” He waits for everyone to shift uncomfortably, trying not to let it get to him. He can talk his way out of this. He can convince them. “But we aren’t evil. We don’t do evil deeds…” He looks at Iwaizumi, his mind laced with the memory of Kobayashi. “Normally… but! But! Our magic is more about, like, uh-”

“We put a very mild nightmare powder in the coffee recently,” Oikawa saves him. “And if I’m the one making coffee, it’s enchanted to spill on you if you’re wearing a light colored shirt.”

“I knew it!” Nishinoya shouts, pointing accusingly. “I knew I wasn’t that clumsy!”

“And I may have levitated your stuffed cat into a mud pile when you first arrived, Asahi, I’m sorry about that,” Suga pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Oh, it’s,” He blinks a few times. “It washed out. Don’t worry about it.”

“I enchant soap,” Kuroo shrugs. “Can’t really call soap rings or negativity magnets evil.”

“And Bokuto…” Suga gestures towards him, his hand falling flat in his lap. “Actually. Bo, what _do_ you do?”

“Oh,” Bokuto sits up straight, divvying his weight between his legs. “I cursed Goshiki.”

The room goes cold again, and everyone looks at each other as if it’s the weirdest thing to happen all day and there _isn’t_ a corpse on their floor.

“You what?” Kuroo gawks. “Bo! What? When? What did you do?”

“His hair grows back slower than usual now,” Bokuto says casually, his tone getting increasingly defensive as he speaks. “Tendou made a joke about how funny it would be if he was stuck with that awful haircut for a while, and I thought it was harmless, I swear. Should only last about a few months, but yeah, his haircut isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and he’s kinda miserable about it and I feel really bad so I’ve been trying to lift it but apparently I’m good at curses.”

“Okay, that’s a little evil,” Oikawa mutters, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I thought you were just, I don’t know, summoning cleaning imps to terrorize Akaashi.”

“Well, that too.”

“They’re little gremlins!” Akaashi defends. “They’re awful little demons, absolutely disgusting. I still can’t believe you classify incubi with something as horrid as an imp. I am on such a different level than those little gargoyles. At least I have a human form-”

“Yes, Akaashi, you’re very beautiful,” Bokuto pokes playfully, teasing him without a care in the world. Akaashi’s mouth clamps shut and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, turning to avoid Bokuto’s gaze. “But I like my little imp buddies! All they want is food. Kinda like you, ‘Kaashi!”

Akaashi mumbles something about never comparing him to an imp again, but his palm remains pressed into his face, obscuring his reddening cheeks and whatever smile he’s donning. Bokuto’s lips twitch into a smile, and he looks down at his twiddling thumbs, Kuroo taking over again. 

“So, Dark Ones, they’re like our higher ups. They’re like nosy bosses making sure we aren’t slacking off, and our particular Dark One likes to just jump into our cauldron without warning,” He gestures angrily at the table off to the side. “Whenever he feels like checking up on us.”

All eyes fall onto the table, eyes going wide as they internalize that the table is, in fact, just a cauldron with a block of stained wood set on top. Daichi tenses up next to him, and Suga bites his tongue. It’s a lot to stomach, realizing that something so common was never what it seemed. That their entire reality can just be so easily fabricated, and the cauldron is proof that it _has_ been fabricated. Partially, at least.

“What the hell,” Asahi whispers under his breath, Nishinoya gasping in awe. 

“That’s a big fucking cauldron.”

“So do you like,” Tanaka’s eyes gleam with childlike wonder. “Do you make potions and shit in that?”

“Alright, hold up, first of all, no, that’s for communication and portals, but is that really the question you want to ask this round?” Suga turns to the crowd across the room, vaguely giving Daichi a glance as Tanaka and Nishinoya echo the fact that he had just said _portals._

Daichi looks lost in thought, like he’s soaking in every word a little too deeply, or perhaps the thoughts aren’t taking at all. His face is stony, eyes focused on the body, on his hands as they play with the hem of his shirt. He glances a little at Suga and turns away when he meets the latter’s eyes. 

It hurts, but Suga can’t blame him. But then again, it _hurts._

“Not at all. Wow, this is a lot. This is... okay,” Tanaka smooths out his pants and clears his throat. “Back on track, can’t get distracted. I gotta ask,” He points at the dead body. “Why is Iwaizumi all dead and stuff?”

“He’s _barely_ dead!” Oikawa corrects with a huff, moving down to press two fingers to his neck. “Yep, there’s a pulse, he’s coming back. See! The wound isn’t even that deep anymore. Not dead.”

“But we saw you like,” He drags his thumb across his neck, and Asahi and Ennoshita cringe. “And don’t think I didn’t see you drink his blood like some kind of freaking vampire.”

“Well, yes, okay, uh,” Suga trails off, looking for an answer. “Yes, we killed him, and yes we may have… drank his blood which is…” He puts a hand over his stomach and grimaces. “Very, _very_ gross, but no, he isn’t dead.”

“We may have accidentally turned him immortal,” Bokuto explains through his hand, looking equally disgusted with the taste in his mouth, and the coven turns to glare at him.

“Which people aren’t really supposed to know about,” Oikawa says sourly, Bokuto sinking into himself. “But yes, we only performed a blood ritual with the knowledge that we wouldn’t have to actually end a life. Claim one? Yes, but never end one.”

Suga looks down at his fingers, where he’s been picking at his nails. They’re rough, jagged from where he’s bitten them down over the past few weeks, the skin starting to peel back a little around his cuticles. He frowns, and Oikawa rests a reassuring hand on his thigh.

And what is he going to do when the conversation turns to Kobayashi? When he has to admit to everyone that he _has_ taken a life before? That he’s seen a man’s last few moments, seen the light fade from his eyes?

Daichi isn’t going to like that revelation, is he?

“He’ll be back up and kicking in a bit,” Oikawa removes his hand from Suga and leans down to fondly stroke Iwaizumi’s hair, some of the locks matted in congealing blood. “He’ll be angry he missed part of this conversation, he always likes to feel included. I feel so bad, dragging him into this, because it’s hard on him. It’s hard being a mortal, er, immortal, that carries the secret of the coven, but he’s never complained so much about knowing. Just about being left in the dark for so long.”

Daichi shifts next to him, and Suga feels his heart drop down into his stomach, which makes it all feel queasy. The taste of blood bubbles up in the back of his throat, and he chokes it back down, swallowing the bitter copper bile with a gasp of air.

“Next question,” Nishinoya starts, continuing before anyone can protest that it isn’t his turn. “Can you accidentally make me immortal?”

“No,” The coven says in unison, Oikawa and Bokuto looking especially displeased.

Nishinoya reaches for his pocket, pulling out a small black book. His eyes go wide, and Daichi flinches when he points at Tanaka.

“The notebook,” His eyes fixate on the little book of horrors. “Can I see it now?”

Nishinoya’s grip on it tightens, and Tanaka elbows him and grabs it out of his hand, showing it off before tossing it to Suga. It’s small, just a pocket notebook that you can buy at any dollar store, but this one is terrifying. The fact they were walking around with this on their person could have been detrimental, depending on what’s inside.

Suga flips through it, little notes at the start about possible demon locations, followed by stupid jokes Tanaka’s made while ghost hunting, and one of the later pages lists entirely about seeing Akaashi with black eyes on the Fourth of July. He turns the page, his eyes widening.

It’s an entire spread on him, pages and pages of notes of his purple eyes, the salute he gave Tanaka and Nishinoya, a detailed account of the night he attacked Ennoshita. Notes about the white roses, the nosebleeds, the power outages, his reactions to the Light witches coming to visit, and a list of failed attempts to see his witch’s mark.

He reads over the account of the attack, and he brings his hand up to his mouth, nearly dropping the notebook in shock as his fingers go numb.

“This…” He doesn’t dare look up from the notebook, to face Tanaka, face Nishinoya, face his coven, face _Daichi._ His lip quivers, and he blinks away the beading tears. This is… no wonder they saw him as a monster or some kind of demon.

He continues, “This was the first night I dreamt of my inner witch. The first night I heard the control spell,” He can see Kuroo shift his legs out of the corner of his eye. “My inner witch made me think I was attacking Daichi, you know, like all the other dreams, since it was the start of our relationship and I was starting to think about how I should tell him what I was. What I am…”

He opens and closes his mouth, trying to ignore the slight bit of distance Daichi puts between them, tears welling up in his eyes but not daring to spill. “I attacked dream Daichi, and then had to face and salute the coven, my parents. It was awful, and then the nightmares only got worse and-”

His throat makes a crying sound, a sort of small whine made from emotion itself, cutting himself off. The notebook drops out of his hands, and he stares at Iwaizumi’s body in horror, unable to look anywhere else. How _could_ he look anywhere else when the room and the stares feel this bad? Feeling like he’s some kind of unknown creature behind a glass wall. Like he’s dangerous. Like he’s something new, something else entirely, which…

_Was he?_

Oikawa picks the notebook up and starts muttering the printed words under his breath. Kuroo tries to look, craning over the edge of the couch to peer over Oikawa’s shoulder, his gaze combined with Daichi’s nearly suffocating. It’s too much, his face heating up without turning fully red, his mouth drier than it ever has before. The taste of earthy pennies has long been replaced with the sour bile of anxiety, and honestly, Suga would rather taste the hot copper.

“So the demon thing comes from ‘dream Suga’ saying he was closer to being a demon than a witch,” He passes it to Kuroo, Kenma peering over his shoulder as their faces fall flat at the notes.

“He told me that he was a ghost,” Daichi whispers next to him, the noise raspy as it gets caught in his throat.

Suga turns his head to face Daichi, but Daichi doesn’t reward him with returning the gesture. He stares ahead, rocking lightly back and forth. “What?”

“The nightmare powder,” He starts, ignoring Suga with his words, his eyes scraping over him in a way that makes Suga shiver, and looks at Oikawa. “I drank it, didn’t I?”

Oikawa parts his lips, taking a moment to find the right answer, “Only a little.”

“That’s the night I woke up in the woods,” He looks at Ennoshita and Asahi, their faces going pale. He turns to Suga, his eyes darkening in the dim light of the room. “So you _did_ use magic on me before tonight.”

It’s a sentence that breaks whatever glimmer of shredded hope Suga had left into a million pieces.

“Well, not me… specifically…” Suga trails off, looking down at his lap, Daichi’s stare boring holes into the center of his being. 

_You’re lying, Koushi._

“Is there anything else, Suga?” Daichi asks, his tone a small notch below demanding.

Suga wracks his brain, the biggest spell he’s ever encountered rattling around his head like an abused ping pong ball. His eyes land on Kenma, close, and then drift back to Daichi as he looks up. He takes a small, shaky breath, and meets his expectant glare head on.

“A spying spell-” Daichi’s eyes widen. “But it wasn’t my intention! It wasn’t like… I wasn’t like, _actively_ spying on you!”

“The same spell you used on Kenma?” Kuroo asks next to him, forehead wrinkling and mouth pouting. “The one that nearly _killed_ you?”

Suga holds his tongue, and Tanaka and Nishinoya both look at him, eyes glossy with worry. He slowly nods, and Kuroo closes his eyes, face twitching as he goes through all the stages of grief. He opens his mouth to say something, but someone cuts him off.

“Suga,” His feet freeze, eyes snapping open. “You didn’t tell us that you used it on Daichi.”

It comes from Bokuto, his voice small and entirely _hurt._ Suga looks into the windows of his aching soul, golden hue dampened with emotions, the flicker of disappointment enough to make Suga feel queasy. He puts a hand over his stomach again, the blood threatening to purge itself at the sight of his deflating hair alone.

It takes a lot to disappoint the most loving and accepting person in the room.

“It’s the spell I used to trigger another fever, to… it was _that_ night. The night of my test,” He continues carefully, the room stilling as his nerves start to settle in. “I, uh, it’s… I didn’t want to, but it just…” The dream version of himself whispered it in his ear, guiding him through every step of the murder. “It was all I could think of, to imagine Daichi when I was casting it. It wasn’t intentionally targeted, I didn’t purposefully seek out to cast a spying spell, I just needed a spell so overwhelming it would give me another fever, and after the blackout-”

“That was you?” Nishinoya’s eyes widen. “That’s so badass!”

“Noya,” Tanaka hisses, digging his knuckles into Nishinoya’s skull. “This is not the time to be impressed by how powerful our little Suga is.”

“But you were _spying_ on us?” Daichi reiterates, his voice a quiet sort of firm that sends Suga’s nerves into rave mode. The words are cold in their stillness, like a fog slowly brushing over the surface of an early winter lake. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, the action a response within itself. Daichi’s head falls a little, his face twisted in distaste.

“It kept showing me Ennoshita,” Suga says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just him sitting at your kitchen table, working on things. Sometimes it showed me Asahi making mac and cheese at two in the morning, and sometimes just you… humming to yourself in your room, dancing like no one was watching, watering and overwatering your plants,” He almost smiles at the memory, how naive and happy it is compared to everything else he’s experienced recently has been. How wonderfully pure and innocent. 

It’s the whole energy Daichi carries with him, light and bright and caring, happy without a care in the world. But the Daichi next to him is different. He’s calculative, observant, too trusting and overly fond of the bond that comes with trust. 

Maybe it’s not overly fond, after all, since everything that is Daichi exudes safety, stability, and everything that Suga doesn’t have. And that makes it feel all the more distant to sit next to him like this, revealing every part of his own life that’s fucked up and warped from traditional reality. 

“I’m sorry, Daichi, I… but how could I have told you that before now?”

The defense is bitter on his tongue, his throat full of anxious regret. It’s just a sentence to save _himself,_ take the blame off _himself._ Justify not telling Daichi something so important and woven into the fabric of his own being. Something to justify the way _he_ feels.

But Daichi just clenches his jaw, eyes pointed and unreadable and _dark._

“What was the fever for?” He asks, his voice capable of cutting through stone.

“Well-”

“I don’t want an excuse, Suga,” Daichi shakes his head. “I want a straight answer. Please. Just… Just one straightforward answer. What were you doing that needed you to do a spell that nearly killed you?”

His body starts to tremble, and he doesn’t dare meet Oikawa, Kuroo, Kenma, Akaashi, or Bokuto’s gaze. They’re watching him, watching Daichi, everyone else hanging onto the anticipation of his words like a ledge that’ll keep them from falling into darkness. His voice comes out broken, quiet, strained as if the air is trying to suck itself back into his lungs.

“K-Kobayashi…”

His shoulders start to shake, and it does nothing to stop two stray tears from rolling down his cheeks, hot and slick, dispersing across his skin so well that there’s nothing left to drip off his chin. It’s like the tears are trying to cling to him, afraid to drip for the sake of making it all real. 

“Did you just say-” Tanaka cuts himself off, his eyes falling onto the floor as his posture drops entirely. 

Suga just nods as he bites his lip, a slow, small action that shakes a few more tears free. They make it to his chin, but trail down his neck instead, the air cold against the trails. There’s no reassurance, there’s no comfort. There’s only admittance of his own actions, memories of the crimson mess, the wet slurp of Akaashi’s feeding, and a lone prayer to Mother Earth that She may take mercy upon Kobayashi in spite of Suga’s impending suffering.

He looks down at Iwaizumi, stomach pulling.

 _He_ will come back to the ones he loves. Sure, it’s taking a little while, but his death has started to settle in, the remaining blood pooling and settling in on the bottom half of his body, turning it a strange shade of purple. He’s dead, really, surely _dead,_ but he’s coming back, his cheeks starting to lose their grey, his neck wound shallowing out to a scrape rather a gash.

He’s taken a life that’ll never get the chance to revive. The life of a paat father, a former husband, an unhinged man of a killer who was definitely not a good soul, but a life nonetheless.

And it’s his own suffering that balances out the grief of death.

“Was it you?” Daichi trembles, the words like nails on a chalkboard. “Was it you who killed Kobayashi?”

“Alright,” Kuroo butts in. “Daichi, you wanted a straight answer, so we’ll give it to you,” His eyes trace over Suga, turning protective as they pan over to Daichi. “Yes. We, as a coven, eliminated a threat. But as you’ve probably learned tonight, things aren’t always so black and white.”

“He was killing people,” Bokuto adds, his thumbs rubbing over the backs of his hands, fingers clasped together. “He was dangerous for us. And Suga didn’t have a choice, it was his test.”

“A test?” Ennoshita sputters. “What kind of test involves you murdering someone?”

“Family tradition,” Suga murmurs, staring straight ahead, his dad’s face just a passing thought. “Loyalty to the coven. Failure of which involves getting you stripped of your powers, and the Sugawaras are proud witches,” He licks his lips, eyes unblinking. “I would have been killed in addition to the… to the power strip, for my own protection. All the family knowledge, no powers? I’d be a great target for witches and witch hunters alike. Plus my dad’s just kind of a dick, so…”

“And you just, what, did it?”

“Don’t,” Suga shakes his head. “Daichi, just… don’t. Did you not just hear me say that I would have died if I didn’t? Can you look at me, _really_ look at me, and truly think I would have done something like that willingly?” The confidence pours out, and Suga knows it’ll be short lived. But maybe this little rush of confidence is what he needs. “That I haven’t already been through the stages of grief and still have nightmares about what I’ve done and what I’ve seen?”

“Not to mention we were basically sucked into it,” Akaashi crosses his arms over his chest. “We weren’t ready, and the original plan was something more… humane. The fever was the most humane thing he could have done.”

“Kobayashi had me locked in his basement,” Kenma looks down, voice soft but carrying an edge. “Forcing me to make compass trackers that detect magic,” Tanaka and Nishinoya glance at each other, both nursing a look of horror. “Suga’s the one who saved me from that, and he couldn’t have if Kobayashi was left alive.”

“He wasn’t a good man, he deserved everything he got,” Kenma continues, Kuroo moving to pull him in closer. “Witch hunters are inherently evil,” He looks at Ennoshita. “And you’re a fool to believe that you’re on the right side. You say you’re not a witch hunter, that you’re not direct, but how much information have you gathered and given to others that led to someone’s death?”

“I-” Ennoshita cuts himself off. “I’m still not convinced modern day witch hunters kill witches. At best, it sounds like Kobayashi was operating on his own.”

Fire rages in Kenma’s eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“Kobayashi liked to bleed out his victims,” He clenches his hands on his thighs, eyes striking down Ennoshita where they stand. “He started with small cuts, just to toy with them. It was a fucking game to him, chaining people up like animals and listening to us beg. He’d take photos, and send them to other witch hunters so they’d know what the best way to gut someone was.”

Suga closes his eyes to keep the tears in, trying to focus on the blurry darkness as Kenma continues explaining in detail exactly what had happened to his parents, his eyes starting to burn. It’s morbid, and hard to stomach, almost _too much_ to stomach, but Kenma needs this. He needs to talk about it, get his emotions out. 

He creaks an eye open when Kenma finishes, hot tears dripping down his chin, face red and tight, and Ennoshita is equally red-faced, eyes unfocused as they stare at the floor in front of him. Kenma leans back into Kuroo, burying his face in his hands as the room eerily stills. 

But Daichi doesn’t seem convinced. Or, perhaps he is, but just doesn’t like it. How could he? How could anyone trust Suga after this? His family only accepted it because the alternative is his own death, and the security that his family would be _safe._ Daichi makes a motion like he’s about to speak, but he’s interrupted by a voice to their right.

“I ate his body,” Akaashi says softly, the words unbroken in how carefully they form from his lips.

All eyes turn off of Suga and onto Akaashi, whose eyes drift away from the former. It’s a stunned silence, and Akaashi readjusts his body in his seat, showing off more of his tail and his claws.

“So if you’re going to be disgusted by the actions of anyone, it might as well be me.”

There’s a strange sort of lull in the conversation as everyone starts to stomach his words and let their weight fully sink in, calm in the same way a funeral might be. Daichi’s a few inches away from Suga, hovering close, but he couldn’t feel any further away. A deep pit starts to grow in Suga’s stomach, settling in the herbs and blood he drank, the foul taste still tingling on the back of his tongue.

Oikawa gasps loudly next to him, disrupting the silence, and falls to his knees, crawling over to Iwaizumi. He cups his face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks, body so rigid it’s nearly unnatural. Kuroo looks at Suga, then to Bokuto, then back down to Oikawa, face scrunched up in confusion.

“What are you-”

“Shhhh,” Oikawa hisses, waving his hand towards Kuroo, examining Iwaizumi’s hand in detail. He looks at each finger, and flips his palm back and forth, holding it close to his face. A finger twitches towards him, and Oikawa drops it in surprise, eyes going wide as he looks around the room. “You all saw that right?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto breathes, staring in amazement. “Shit, he’s alive.”

“Yes, of course he is!” Oikawa spits in his direction. “We tested that fucking plant so many goddamn times, I wouldn’t have done the stupid ritual if I wasn’t sure he’d come back!” He looks around for his phone, and looks at the time, a bright 2:30 shining back at him. “An hour and a half. That’s how long it takes.” He repeats it again, more to himself. “An hour and a half.”

He returns his attention to Iwaizumi, inspecting every muscle as if it’s new, looking for any sign of life. Iwaizumi’s hand twitches, more noticeably this time, and Suga can see Daichi start to pale out of the corner of his eye. 

Daichi’s hands clench, knuckles whiter than the rest of him as his eyes dart around the scene. His forehead is wrinkled up, forming the lines of worry and confusion he usually gets when he’s dealing with a difficult customer or trying to follow along with a trivia game show. Lines that Daichi probably doesn’t even know he has, but Suga’s always loved tracing them with his eyes, memorizing each part of Daichi’s face like it’s the last time he’ll ever see him.

But now, they aren’t cute, they aren’t the lines of confusion Suga knows. They’re fearful, fearful of what might have been. Suga can’t even blame him, if he didn’t know that Iwaizumi was immortal, it may have looked like they were ready and willing to sacrifice anyone they cared about to save their own skin.

But Daichi _does_ know that Iwaizumi is immortal, and the worry’s still there, still scratching his calm demeanor. Ripples on the surface of a once-still lake, ones that could form waves that end up drowning him deep below.

Iwaizumi sucks in a giant gasp of air, sitting up so fast he just narrowly misses slamming his head against Oikawa’s. His breathing is ragged, panicked, hands flying up to clench at his chest and his neck, the last bit of his wound sealing as if it had never existed at all. He looks around the room with wild, frantic eyes, glossy as they blink away the horrors of his memory. Oikawa holds his hands up, looking him up and down as if to decide if he should hug him and never let go or never lay his hands on such a pure, innocent soul again.

“Wa-” He croaks dryly, holding his throat. “Water.”

Oikawa wastes no time snapping his fingers, a bottle of water, although small, appearing in his hand. They still have magic, but with the size of the bottle, it’s evident that their powers are draining quickly. They’ll be mostly powerless by sunrise, and it’s somewhat unsettling to realize. If anything happens, they can’t defend themselves. They can still do basic magic, yes, but it’s all emotion-controlled and unpredictable. 

And that’s terrifying. 

Which is why hiding and laying low is crucial to their survival. 

He pulls down the collar of his shirt as Iwaizumi drinks, his mark more of a murky grey than the pitch black he’s grown accustomed to. It’s odd, the color, like a faded tattoo slowly bleeding into the skin, worn with time. It doesn’t tingle anymore, it doesn’t shine. It’s lackluster, and the pale cream of his skin greedily sucks it up, little by little.

Oikawa pulls Iwaizumi into a tight hug, the latter going stiff in his grasp. “Hail The Dark Ones,” Oikawa whispers into the crook of his neck, nuzzling into his warmth, voice laced with tears. “Fuck it, Hail everyone.”

“You’re pretty scary, Tooru,” Iwaizumi murmurs and falls into his hug, voice still ragged, but growing softer. “But first, what the fuck did I miss this time?”

“Um,” Oikawa trails off. “Well, everyone knows now.”

“I can see that,” He opens his eyes, looking between Suga and Daichi with an emotion Suga can’t quite read. Knowing? Pity? Instead, he just fits himself in Oikawa’s touch, Oikawa thoroughly checking him over, calling Asahi to do the same. “Did it at least work?”

“I think so,” Oikawa, satisfied with the check-up, pulls him over to his chair, letting Iwaizumi sit in between his legs. He runs his hands through his hair as he conjures a single tissue, wetting it and starting to clean off the remnants of his wound.

“It is,” Bokuto pulls down the collar of his shirt, showing off his own ashen mark. “All thanks to you and Oikawa.”

“Okay,” Nishinoya holds out his hands. “Before we continue, and I might be a little late asking this, but what the hell even was the thing we walked in on?”

“A ritual,” Bokuto turns to him, shrugging.

“Well, yes,” Tanaka circles his index fingers around in each other, begging someone to continue. “But…”

“Kuroo,” Suga says, Kuroo turning his head towards him. “Is it okay if we tell them what the ritual was for?”

He looks back and forth, his expression blank. “Why are you asking me?” 

“Because you’re a better coven leader than Oikawa-”

_“Hey.”_

“And I know that you take everyone’s safety seriously.”

“Well,” He sighs. “They deserve at least that much, they did walk in on the worst of it and whatever,” Kuroo nods, looking around the room, narrowed eyes lingering specifically on Ennoshita. He takes a few moments to decide what the best phrasing is, mouth swishing around as he thinks.

“With the witch hunters, we decided it would be best to hide. Hide so that we don’t have to take action, and that we can be safe. Our powers as they are can be traced, and it’s not a matter of just _not_ doing magic in order to hide. If we don’t do magic, or if we do too much magic, we get sick, like how one spell gave Suga a fever and took out the power,” He pauses to see if everyone’s still following, and if Suga’s being completely honest, they look lost, but Kuroo continues anyway. “We assimilated the blood of Iwaizumi,” He points, iwaizumi giving a small wave. “To make ourselves less… nonmortal, I guess.”

“You keep saying mortal…” Asahi starts slowly. “Does that mean you’re not human?”

“No, no,” Oikawa shakes his head with a small huff. “We’re all very human. Just… well, we age slower. We’re more durable, and we have powers. We aren’t _regular_ humans, but we’re still very human.”

“So,” Bokuto picks it up, the coven sharing one single brain cell to explain. “We’re like, almost mortal again. Which is why you guys really need to not tell people that we don’t have powers. We can’t defend ourselves from the bad guys.”

“But our emotions can still control us,” Oikawa adds, giving the room a warning glance. “Which is why we need to be very careful, _all_ of us.”

“So you like, killed your boyfriend… to blend in?” 

“We only did it because we knew he was coming back,” Suga defends. “We never would have done such a reckless ritual if we had to actually kill someone-”

“Suga,” Daichi whispers.

Suga freezes, his nerves jolting as if his heart’s stopped. He turns to face Daichi, Daichi refusing to even meet his gaze. He plays with the hem of his shirt, and Suga can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His lips quiver, bitten red, and Suga feels his heart slam into his ribcage.

“Can we… you and I… alone?” He mumbles the words, a few of them so quiet Suga can’t catch them.

“What?” Suga stutters.

Daichi starts again, a little louder. “Can we talk alone? Outside?”

They aren't the words that Suga wants to hear. They’re not the ones he expected to hear, either. 

“I just think it’ll be easier for me,” He licks his lips. “If I just talk to you.”

“Of course,” Suga gulps, looking around the room for reassurance. The looks he gets in return don't help him feel any better, and he shakily stands to his feet, reaching a hand out for Daichi to take. 

He refuses it, and Suga’s hand and heart drop to his side.

Instead, Daichi hoists himself up and starts walking off towards the back of the kitchen, his motions stiff and inelastic, like the moves of a zombie. Suga swallows hard, his mouth like a desert as he glances grimly at the group and shakily goes to follow. But his legs don’t want to go, his body screams for him to stop, to stand his ground, to avoid this at all costs and just run.

But he goes.

And Daichi is sitting on the edge of the porch, watching the treeline peacefully rustle with the glossiest, most glazed-over eyes Suga’s ever seen. He looks lost, so deep in thought and at war with himself that Suga can almost hear his thoughts seeping out. It pains him to see it, to see everything he feared come to light.

At least he isn’t running away, or calling him a monster, but then again, maybe he just didn’t want to do it in front of other people.

But Daichi is kinder than that, isn’t he? 

_Isn’t he?_

“Daichi-” Suga starts, and Daichi holds his finger up, jaw clenched, and Suga’s mouth puckers as he takes a seat next to him. He clasps his fingers together, staring up at the sky.

It’s a gorgeous night, and his tired eyes eat up the stars like they’ll fade as soon as he looks away. But the night is empty, and quiet. It’s a void, its only purpose that of destruction.

“I…” Daichi starts, blowing air out of his nose. “I don’t care that you’re a witch, I guess I should open with that. I… I think I accepted that a long time ago.”

“How long have you known?” Suga whispers, looking down at his hands to watch his thumb rub over the back of his hand. He moves up to idly scratch his arm, the skin turning an angry red.

“Your panic attack gave everyone nosebleeds,” Daichi bites his tongue. “And then I had a nightmare about you, and woke up in the woods. It was just… too weird. And being around Tanaka and Noya talking about you being a demon this entire time… I don’t know. I guess I’ve known for a while.”

“And you aren’t disgusted? Scared?” 

“Disgusted, no,” He answers quickly, voice dripping in certainty. “Scared… well, that one’s a little… harder to answer.”

Suga closes his eyes, a familiar tug of his under eyes making an appearance. He bites his lip, and lets Daichi continue.

“I know that you’d never hurt me,” He sits forward on his elbows, hunched over as he turns to face Suga, eyes swirling as they work their way over him. “I know that you’re not the kind of person to hurt others, but you have. And it’s the fact that you didn’t know you attacked Ennoshita that scares me. Not to even mention the whole… Kobayashi thing…”

His lip starts to quiver between his teeth, and he nods.

“I don’t hate you, Suga, and I’m not angry that you kept this a secret. I mean, I understand it. I understand why you kept secrets, because… well, I mean,” He gestures vaguely around them, hand flopping back down to his thigh as he sighs. “But I just… is this… us… going to survive like this?”

Suga’s head snaps towards him.

“What?” He rasps. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daichi’s voice cracks. “I mean, is _this,_ our relationship, something that can thrive when we’re both trying to figure things out? When you have so much… _darkness_ to solve, and I have so much to reconsider, too?”

“What are you reconsidering?” Suga asks softly.

“My whole perception of reality,” Daichi stares ahead. “I mean, first of all, you were spying on me, Suga, not only is that a violation of trust, but it’s… unnerving. That someone can do something like that without me knowing. That you can just snap your fingers and do something that I can’t. It’s like I’m going from 2D to 3D, and I just… I need time, okay?”

“So we’re breaking up-”

“I didn’t say that-” Daichi interrupts, voice low.

“Then what?” Suga’s face pulls tightly. “What do you want to do? Are we just putting this on hold?”

“I… think that might be for the best. For both of us.”

“I thought you would want to… you know,” Suga chokes on a small sob. “Work through this together.”

“I don’t think we can do this together, Suga, I’m…” He huffs, choking on a cry of his own. “I need to cope on my own. I need to… cope. I n-need time to process this, and to process… process you.”

“Process me?” Suga stares. “I’m not a computer, Daichi, what do you mean ‘process’ me?”

He presses his lips into a line, his silence deafening.

“Hey,” Asahi’s voice comes from behind them, his head poking out of the door. “Akaashi kicked out Noya and Tanaka for asking what human flesh tastes like, so Ennoshita and I are gonna head out with them. Are you…”

“I’ll be behind you,” Daichi answers solemnly, scratching the back of his neck, eyes full of unshed tears.

Asahi looks between them and nods, softly closing the door behind them.

“What I mean to say is that you deserve lots of things, Suga. You deserve to be happy, you deserve good nights of sleep, and a family that understands you and helps carry you. You deserve someone who’ll stay by your side unconditionally, someone who will give you the world and make you happy and make you safe and comfortable, and I,” He chokes a little. “I still have to decide if that’s me. Because if I can’t, then you deserve more than me.”

“Daichi…”

“And you need space too, Suga, you have so much on your plate and I’m just adding to it, even this… right now is hard. I know it is, but I know it’ll be better for both of us if we just… fuck, I don’t know, Suga,” He starts crying, tears lacing his voice. “I’m just overwhelmed, and I know you are too.”

“But I can handle it.”

He has before. He’s carried this by himself this whole time. He’s been so good about carrying his own burden. But his coven would disagree. Daichi would disagree. Hell, if dream Suga were here he’d disagree too. 

So maybe he should just listen. For once, just let someone else worry about him, too, even if it breaks his heart to hear said worry.

“I can’t,” Daichi gets choked up. “I can’t, Suga. How do you expect me to fully accept someone who can’t fully accept themself?”

Suga’s mouth opens and closes, just out of instinct to defend himself, and Daichi continues.

“I… like you, Suga. A lot. Enough to say that I don’t want this to be over. I don’t. I just think that right now, right at this moment, we both need time. I need time to cope with just… everything I’ve learned. My best friend is a witch hunter, magic is real, people are trying to murder my boyfriend, who’s a witch, and…” He licks his lips, trailing off. “And you?” His eyes peer over Suga, his head shaking slightly. “Suga, you need to take care of yourself. You need to put yourself first for once, and as long as I’m in your life, you can’t do that.”

“So… what are we?” 

Daichi blinks away tears, wiping what he doesn’t get on his sleeve. “What do you want to be?”

Suga hesitates, vision blurring. The words come quietly, but they’re sure and true.

“We don’t need to define anything right now, but I really do love you, Daichi. I do. And it sucks that I can only say it now, but you’re right. We need space. And we need an understanding, and there’s just…”

_Just so much that I wish I could tell you, but I don’t even have the answers._

Suga sniffles, and Daichi looks at him, eyes widened in a mix of shock and pain. Suga shakes his head, wipes away the few tears that spill over, and holds his palm up to distance himself. Daichi clasps his hands together patiently and waits for Suga to finish fanning his face. 

“You’re almost too good for me, Daichi,” Suga laughs through a small sob. “I don’t know how you do it, how you and Iwaizumi could be so calm after learning something so… weird. Horrifying. I can’t even imagine how you feel about all this.”

Daichi just nods, looking up at the sky with those glossy eyes.

It’s quiet. But it’s a silence Suga knows. A silence he’s comfortable with. One he’s been waiting to bask in all night, but hasn’t been so lucky as to experience. But now, it’s like a breath of fresh air, his body greedily taking everything the silence gives.

It’s a silence that doesn’t mean an end, but promises healing. 

“So this is… a break,” Suga whispers.

“...yeah.”

He fits his lips between his teeth and nods, face tightening. 

“Okay,” He agrees softly, barely above a whisper. He almost questions if Daichi even heard him, since he just stands up, brushing off the back of his pants.

“I, uh, I should go with them,” He gestures towards his own house. “But… I hope you have a good night, Suga, you… we… _everyone_ deserves a good night. No more nightmares, for both of us,” He frowns, awkwardly turning his head to the side.

“Yeah,” Suga squeaks, hugging his knees closer to his chest. “Yeah… uh, goodnight, Daichi.”

His face starts to heat up, and Daichi just turns around, hesitating. He rolls his shoulders a little, tension lifting off of him like taking off a shawl, and then starts his walk back home. Suga watches his entire small trek, and waits for the door to close before everything starts to swell in the center of his chest. His heart’s too big to be comfortable. His lungs are too tight from holding such a shallow breath. 

And it hurts.

It’s the tears that fall first, silent and heavy. He’s shed too many tears recently, too many tears this night alone, but these are the ones that hurt the most. It’s shame that builds up in his throat, choking his breaths, shame and all the words he could have said. 

_Should have said._

He hugs himself, just to relieve the pressure, just to hug something, and the tears keep coming, sounds welled up on the tip of his tongue. There’s only a rustle of the trees, a few crickets, a few muffled words from inside the house, and the drip of catharsis on his fingers as he brushes away the fat drops.

It’s the light sniffle of his nose, and softly blowing snot into the collar of his shirt. It’s deep breaths and a count to ten, and then footsteps across the porch before Daichi’s bedroom light can turn on. It’s lightly shrugging off Akaashi, Bokuto, and Kuroo as he makes his way through the kitchen, and then giving into Oikawa’s hug by the time he gets to the bottom of the stairs.

It’s the warm embrace of a group hug, and then shaking shoulders and sobs on Oikawa’s shoulder, reassuring hands rubbing into his back. It’s the acceptance of his _family,_ the ones who know him better than he knows himself. The ones who want the best for him and say he deserves even better. The ones he would put his life on the line for, because despite the arguments, _family_ always comes through for him.

And on the way up to his bed, curtains closed and bed untucked by Bokuto, pajamas picked out by Oikawa and Iwaizumi, tissues offered by Akaashi, and monitored under the watchful eyes of Kuroo and Kenma, Suga can’t help but think that his family is something worth being strong for.


	21. Fire Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that I was going to take a week off and technically this means this update should have been on Friday, but I can't NOT update a writing on Imbolc, so here you go! Happy/Blessed Imbolc! Still gonna stay true to my break though, so next chapter should be out the Friday after next. Make sure to take care of yourselves!
> 
> Chapter Song: Fire Dance by Birdmask

Footsteps crunch over the leaves behind Suga, and he lets air out of his lungs, not even bothering to look left as the figure crouches down to his knees, slowly lowering himself onto the patch of grass next to him. It’s sunny, bright in the way that it’s almost blinding, but there’s never been a sun. Just fog that carries up to the highest skies and conceals everything other than whatever small opening he’s always emerged to.

“I’m really not in the mood tonight, dream self,” Suga breathes, keeping his attention on the sky. “If you tell me to kill Daichi again, I think I might just start haunting your dreams, too.”

“No nightmares tonight, Koushi,” He says softly, sticking his head into Suga’s view, frowning a little in the shadows cast by his own head. “Just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“This spell you’ve done with your family,” He begins slowly, worry starting to build on his features. “It’s a reversal spell, yes?”

“Assimilation,” Suga corrects.

“Right. Assimilation,” He dream self helps him sit up, and crosses his legs as they face each other, grabbing onto his own ankles. “But you’ll basically be mortal, correct?”

“Yeah,” Suga nods.

“I would be careful with that. I cannot see the future, but I can see what goes on in this town, and you should have some sort of backup plan,” The glow in his eyes flicker, dulling in the light of the forest. His image is translucent, and Suga wonders if he sticks his hand out if it would pass right through. He bites his lip and changes the subject, “You remember the first time I reached out to you? The shower of your first night as a witch?”

“I do,” Suga’s lips press into a line. “And you scared the hell outta me.”

“I apologize, but that isn’t the point I am trying to make here. Koushi, I was only able to start contacting you because you came into your full powers,” His frown deepens. “I’m afraid that after tonight, until you start getting your powers back, I will be unavailable to you. I will still be here, still… floating around, but I cannot make myself known to you like I have until your full powers start to come back. Or, you know,” His eyes flicker over Suga as if he’s looking for something in particular. “If you happen to get overly emotional.”

“So, all I’m hearing is that you’re leaving me too,” Suga scoffs, trying to joke, a sad smile stretching across his face. “If you said this at literally any other time, I would have been overjoyed.”

“Becoming fond of me, are you, Koushi?” He grins, a devilish look that Suga files under ‘never make this face’. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you are,” Suga sits back on his hands, staring at the man before him. “I’m starting to think you’re a little more than a figment of my imagination.”

“Guilty as charged,” He sheepishly smiles. “You know of me already, Koushi, whether you’re aware of it or not,” His voice trails off, gaze flicking up and down. “But I think that in my absence, it would be worth you knowing the truth. Call it my own insurance to your safety.”

“Safety from what?” Suga’s brow furrows, and his dream self’s eyes meander on the leaves in front of them. “Safe from what?” He repeats more forcefully.

“I’ll give you that one, too, then,” He says with a small sigh, reaching up and placing the pad of his thumb against Suga’s forehead between his eyebrows. Suga flinches at his touch, repeating the question, but his mirror self is stronger, and closes his eyes, lips parted.

“What the hell are you-”

“I hope you do not make the same mistakes I did,” His mirror self softly wishes. _”Cof, Sugawara o fy.”_

His ears ring as a blinding white light shoots through him, vision blurring to nothing but black and purple pinpricks, twisting and swirling into each other. His limbs are heavy, his lungs refusing the air he can barely manage to pull in. He chokes, and the swirls fade into solid black, his shoulder blades digging into a hard floor.

He shoots upright, eyes darting around, trying to focus in the dark of wherever the hell he is as he focuses on a familiar table, a familiar countertop. He twists his body around so that he’s on his hands and knees, grabbing onto the table to support his weight. His heart pounds against his chest at his dream self’s warning, and he makes a strangled noise, looking around the kitchen for something to drink. 

Tarot cards no one bothered to clean up scatter onto the floor as he slams his hand down to catch his weight, and Suga curses to himself, vowing to worry about it later, stepping towards the sink for water. He shuffles, cards stuck to his palms and feet falling off as he treads, shakily grabbing a cup and chugging all the water he can hold up with a heavy hand. 

He grabs the edge of the counter and gasps for air, taking a few slower sips as he calms down, his shirt clinging to his body’s sweat. He grimaces at the feeling, and runs a hand through his damp hair, wondering if he should risk waking Bokuto and Akaashi up just to take a shower. He breathes a little more, keeping the air in his lungs until they burn, and he closes his eyes, wondering what the hell his dream self was talking about.

But then again, he’s never given Suga a straight answer to anything. He speaks in riddles, acting like he’s all-knowing and holding it over him like some screwed up gamemaster. Suga sighs, rinses out the cup and puts on the dish rack to dry, leaning over to peel the tarot card that’s stuck to his heel.

He sets it down next to the sink and goes to splash water on his face, letting it wet his bangs and drip down his face. He buries his face in a hand towel and cleans himself up, sniffing as he blinks away the hazy night, and looks down at the card, just to look.

Staring back at him, a thick **XIII** and the hollow eyes of the Grim Reaper.

-

“I’m off to work,” Suga meanders through the living room, his clothes wrinkled and bags under his eyes, which, if Kuroo’s being honest, has started to become his normal look.

Kuroo can’t blame him, in just three days’ time, he’s broken up with his boyfriend, (well, okay, Kuroo has no idea what happened, because Suga has said that they’re still together but broken up but just taking a break, and he doesn’t want to open _that_ can of worms, so he’ll glare at Daichi from the window regardless), got unexpectedly abandoned by his dream self, drew a Death card in the middle of the night, and then spent the remaining few days holed up in his room watching reruns of Malcolm in the Middle. And although there’s a _lot_ to unpack in all of that, the tarot card drawing is undoubtedly what’s in the forefront of everyone’s minds.

But he said he didn’t ask a question, and Kuroo believes him, so the draw was completely random. Terrible luck, but not a sign. And if it _is_ a sign, the Death card is nothing more than a card that signifies the end of something or the rebirth of another. Worst case scenario, it just means that his relationship with Daichi is truly over, but since it’s also a card of rebirth, it could very well mean something else is brewing between them. If it _is_ a sign, it’s probably just a heads up.

“Alright,” He tears away from his game of Mario Kart and turns his head to watch Suga yawn and make his way to the door. “Have a good day.”

Suga gives a vague, tired wave as he leaves, and Kuroo frowns, turning his attention back to the tv screen, where he immediately gets hit by a red shell. He groans, and Kenma gives a small, malicious laugh next to him, pulling into first. Which, in all honesty, Kuroo isn’t sure how he managed to pull off. He sucks at this.

Kenma passes the finish line and Kuroo “tch”s, Kenma turning to face him with the biggest evil grin he can manage, the familiar glint of superiority lacing his features.

Kuroo pushes his shoulder.

“You’re just angry you suck,” Kenma huffs, fixing his ponytail.

“I think you cheat,” Kuroo fires back. “You probably rigged the game or something while you were setting up the system.”

“What,” Kenma asks, his voice sickly sweet. “Do you really think I’d be able to rig a game like that?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes.

“I don’t think I trust you.”

“What’s not to trust?”

Kuroo pushes his shoulder again, and Kenma lets out another laugh. It’s more of a giggle that turns into an ugly snort, but it’s the cutest thing Kuroo’s ever heard in his life. Kenma smiling, laughing, and just having a good time makes him melt, the sound saved to his memory bank over and over again because hearing Kenma be happy is like hearing it for the first time again and again. 

He could live forever in the sound of Kenma’s ugly giggles.

“You’re smiling like an idiot again, Kuro,” Kenma sits up and digs his foot into Kuroo’s side in retaliation. 

“Just thinking about how you main as Toad,” Kuroo teases, looking at the tv screen as Kenma chooses the next track to race on, the cold unfeeling eyes of Toad staring back into the very fabric of his soul.

“And you’re Drybones, so shut up.”

“Hey, Drybones is badass,” His eyes flicker to his character, who bounces with the music as the countdown for the next round starts.

Kenma immediately takes off flying, and Kuroo’s even more convinced that he’s cheating somehow. 

“Oh come on,” Kenma whines. “He’s so lame.”

“Not as lame as Toad,” Kuroo tosses a banana peel ahead, shivering as Kenma glares at him.

“Definitely not as lame as Iwaizumi being Bowser.”

“Hey,” Kuroo snaps, falling off the edge of the map. “It is adorable because Oikawa is Bowser Jr and they are so perfect for each other and so in love that it’s disgusting. They’re disgusting. I think they’re screwing upstairs and I hate them.”

“Agreed,” Kenma passes the line for his second lap, Kuroo driving straight off the map… again. “And you suck at this.”

“I’m too old for this shit,” Kuroo starts randomly mashing buttons, pausing the game three times in a row. “Can’t wait to retire.”

“You turn twenty-two this year, shut up,” Kenma hits him with a shell as he loops around and passes Kuroo’s cart. “You’re just a big child that pays taxes and votes. You’re still listed on your parents’ insurance company.”

“Alright, fine,” Kuroo sighs. “Enough adult talk. I get it. I’m baby.”

Kenma rolls his eyes and rests his head against Kuroo’s shoulder, finishing his final lap as Kuroo finally passes into the single-digits of the final ranking. He blows air out of his nose, laughing against Kuroo’s shoulder as he passes the finish line, shaking his head and groaning. Kuroo just smiles, and leans down to kiss the top of Kenma’s head. 

“You’re such a dork,” Kenma mumbles into his sleeve. 

“Yeah?” Kuroo nuzzles into Kenma’s hair, his grin never leaving his lips. “Good. I’d rather be a dork than straight up embarrassing.”

“You’re getting there,” Kenma stands up and fixes his sweatshirt over his pants, flicking a piece of loose hair over his shoulder. He staggers a little and brings his palm up to his head, fingers massaging at his temples. “Whoa.”

“Another headache?”

“Yeah,” Kenma stretches. “Just hungry, it’s nothing. Want anything?”

“Drink water,” Kuroo orders, watching Kenma shake his head as he leaves the room, and calls after him. “And your headache isn’t going to get any better if you don’t eat something healthy!”

A middle finger sticks itself out into the entrance hall and Kuroo feigns offense, the cauldron in front of him erupting into golden flames. Two pale hands grip at the edges and Bokuto wiggles his way out, shimmying onto the floor like some kind of giant, muscular snake. His body is covered in golden sparkles, and he brushes them off, reaching his hand back in to help Akaashi out.

“How was Konoha?” Kuroo raises an eyebrow, watching Akaashi use his tail as extra support to get out.

“He wasn’t there today,” Bokuto shrugs, shaking his head like a dog, sparkles shimmering and fading as they fall to the floor. “I’ll try again another time.”

“Why were you going there?” Kenma enters the room again, holding two bottles of water and speaking through a bag of chips held between his teeth. 

“We’re helping Suga find a way to access his dream self again,” Bokuto starts brushing the sparkles off of Akaashi, his hand hovering in pure hesitance as they cross over his chest and down his back. Bokuto turns a very light shade of pink, and opts to shake the hem of Akaashi’s shirt instead. “He seemed really upset with the whole Daichi thing so we figured we’d try to give him back something else he’s missing.”

Kenma nods and curls back up to Kuroo, opening the bag of chips and taking one out to hold up to Kuroo’s mouth. He eats it, and Kenma takes one for himself, both tuning back in to Bokuto’s ramble.

“I also thought that I could go into the restricted section to try and look at the Sugawara family records, you know, because Ennoshita did all that research,” He pulls Nishinoya’s confiscated notebook out of his pocket, flipping through it. “But underage witches can’t go in, and demons can’t, and Konoha would be interrogated for searching for us since he isn’t in the family, so,” He shrugs.

“We should burn this,” Kuroo reaches out and Bokuto passes the notebook over. He runs his finger along the pages, thumbing through all the notes on “demon Suga”, past experiences with weird things surrounding Suga and his dad, and some scrawled out notes on a page labeled “Ennoshita’s research”.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to spark questions. Especially with Suga’s mom having been excommunicated for chaos magic, Suga doing weird chaos-esque magic, and Kuroo’s witch-raised knowledge of the Sugawara family being somewhat controversial for their history of dancing along the edges of darker magic. 

He remembers when Daisuke Sugawara ascended to the position of Dark One, and how his own parents were rather outraged that he had been chosen over Takaaki Anabara, who had more ideas of incorporating mortals aware of magic into their ranks to further the push of mortals taking responsibility for the balance of the earth, but of course, Daisuke had decades of experience and name recognition behind him. 

Now there’s been more funding in their area put into the “darker” magicks, to try and connect Dark witches back to their roots. Kuroo doesn’t really care either way, since he chose the most general form of magic as his pathway to encompass all kinds of spells, but he has to admit that he was a little more than wary to accept an invite from Daisuke himself to join the coven of his son. 

But he’d never regret his decision.

He’s just… apprehensive that Suga is more like his mom than his dad when it comes to magic. More like the hidden parts of his family tree that Daisuke buried when he took the position. That Suga would stoop so low as to do magic in the same vein that killed so many members of his family, fully aware of the consequences.

And Kuroo doesn’t want to lose Suga.

Bokuto flops down on the couch, nearly launching Kenma into the air, and Akaashi sits down at his feet, reaching for a controller. He looks at Kenma, his eyes narrowing into crimson-ringed slits as he grins his fangy grin.

“Wanna have a rematch?”

-

“Is that him?” Aoi peeks out of the window in full spy stance. “I’ll go out there and jump him. How dare he break my brother’s heart. I’ll fucking murder him.”

“Language,” Daichi’s mom reminds nonchalantly, sipping on her cup of coffee.

“That’s the part of what she said that you have an issue with?” Daichi mumbles from behind his hand, tiredly holding up his weight on his elbows. He hasn’t touched his coffee, but Aoi will probably drink it anyways. He looks to his left, and sees Suga straddle his bike to fix the straps on his backpack. His eyes flicker over to the house, tired and sad. “But yeah… that’s him.”

“I’ll curse him,” Aoi seethes, and the hair on Daichi’s arm stands on end. “And dance on his cold, dead body. Look at him, he’s gorgeous _and_ evil.”

“Hey, dead bodies are terrifying and nothing to joke about-”

“Oh, and when have you ever seen a dead body?” Aoi mocks, and Daichi presses his lips into a line.

“And he’s not evil,” Daichi watches Suga pedal off, his undereye bags noticeable from the streets. “He’s just…”

He trails off, the words catching in his throat. He’s not evil. But can Daichi call someone who’s broken so many moral and legal laws _good?_ Maybe, because Suga has the brightest soul he’s ever met. Suga is kind, and he’s nice, and he has a giant heart with so much love to give.

But can he really forgive someone just because they’re _nice?_

“He’s just what, Dai?” His mom asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I mean, things were going so well and all of a sudden I get Aoi storming into my room in the middle of the night because you told her you’ve broken up.”

“We aren’t- it’s- uh…” 

Daichi struggles to label it. He hasn’t spoken much to Suga since that night, but he _has_ been talking to Iwaizumi and by extent, Oikawa. Not to mention the good morning text he sent out of habit yesterday, which he’s still kicking himself over. Especially when Suga responded so simply with a thank you, unlike the spam of random heart emojis he once got. 

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s evil, that’s what it is,” Aoi sits down with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest, one of her bra inserts starting to poke out from the collar of her shirt. She shoves it back in without a single ounce of grace, their mother shaking her head in disappointment as she takes another sip of coffee. Aoi points a finger directly at Daichi. “You deserve better than someone who’s going to make you call me crying at four in the morning.”

“Aoi,” Daichi starts.

“No, you listen. No one hurts my big brother and makes him cry. You’re so much better off without him.”

“Aoi,” Daichi starts again, voice flat, Aoi and his mother waiting for him to speak his part. But he doesn’t know what to say. 

That he _doesn’t_ want to be with Suga? Because that’s just a lie. He wants to be someone that Suga can depend on, someone he can be happy with, but right now, they can’t heal and come to an understanding unless they’re apart. Yes, he _wants_ to be with Suga, but he also _needs_ to cope and adjust to this kind of life. Just thinking about being a murder accomplice and possibly being under Suga’s spells without knowing (again) makes his stomach do a whole gymnastic routine.

“He just has a lot of family baggage,” Daichi settles on, his mom and sister looking dissatisfied. “And I need to see if there’s room for me in there.”

“So he’s stringing you along,” Aoi leans forward. “That’s not good either, Dai.”

“He’s not…” Daichi’s mouth starts to dry. “I am happy with him. I _want_ to make him happy. And even now, in this break or whatever, I just can’t stop thinking about him-”

“Yeah, cause he lives next door and works with you,” Aoi hikes her thumb over her shoulder. “Take some time off, come home, and you’ll forget all about that bastard.”

“Aoi,” Their mom warns. “Calm down. This is obviously a little deeper than just black and white,” She turns back to Daichi. “So. You’re happy with him.”

“I am.”

“And you miss him now that you’ve broken up.”

“I do.”

“And you love him?”

“I-” The words scrape against his mouth, coming out as a choke. Aoi and his mother stare at him expectantly, his mom’s eyebrow starting to raise, and he looks down at his hands, cheeks starting to burn, “Yes.”

“Then there you have it,” His mom sits back in her chair, setting the coffee down. “Have you told him that?”

“No…”

“Has he told you?”

Daichi bites his lip. “He said it for the first time when we were breaking up.”

“Well that’s shitty and manipulative.”

“Aoi-”

“No,” Daichi says, a little too quickly. “It was… it was sweet. It wasn’t to try and win me back or anything, it was…” His forehead crinkles. “It was kinda like a promise that things would be okay. And, well, someone told me once that he’d be the one to say _it_ first, and how when he does, _did,_ I’ll have to remember just how much I care about him. And now, well… I miss him. I do care. I do love him. But I just can’t be that person for him until we’re both ready.”

He takes a small sip of his coffee to shut himself up, the taste bitter between his teeth. Dream Suga had been right, the minute the words “I love you” left Suga’s lips, the favor he owed that dream version of Suga echoed in his mind. He’s young, naive, and he’ll say ‘I love you’ first. And he promised him to remember just how much he cares about Suga, how much he wants Suga in his life. How this is just another bump in the road to something that would make him truly _happy._

His mom and Aoi look at him, look at each other, and look back.

“What?” He asks into his cup, feeling small.

“You’re all grown up, aren’t you?” His mother’s eyes seem to sparkle.

“Dude, that was like,” Aoi blinks away her surprise, wiping away a fake tear. “Okay, fine, he isn’t evil. I’ll give him that.”

“What?” Daichi asks again, face scrunching up in further confusion.

“Nothing it’s just,” His mom speaks through a smile. “You’re just grown up. That’s all.”

“Alright,” Daichi scratches his arm awkwardly, leaning on one hand as he watches Aoi respond to a text with a stupid smile on her face. Great, perfect timing. “How are things going with your boyfriend?”

Aoi nearly drops her phone, her cheeks dusted with pink. “Fine.”

“I need to meet him,” Daichi blinks, his forming smile less than good-natured. “Make sure he gets the older brother talk.”

“Don’t give him the older brother talk,” Aoi whines. “That’s how Rin’s boyfriend got scared off.”

“Good, if he couldn’t handle me, he couldn’t handle Rin.”

“Mom,” Aoi draws out, and their mother shrugs.

“I like the older brother talk. It saves me from doing the mom talk.”

“I don’t want the mom talk either.”

“Well,” Daichi starts to smile a little. “Do you want the older brother talk or the mom talk? I’m sure dad would _love_ to give him-”

“Fine,” Aoi huffs. “You’re coming home for Thanksgiving, right? You’ll meet him then. End of discussion. Goodnight. Elvis has left the fucking building.”

“Good, I look forward to meeting him.”

Aoi snorts, setting her phone down. “Yeah, well, I don’t.”

-

Oikawa loves many things, like bad horror movies, for example. He loves the sight of fake blood and the Wilhelm scream and just terrible concepts and CGI and outlandish costumes. He loves the stars, late nights staring at them until they don’t even look real, and by extent, checking everyone’s horoscopes because he does _not_ trust that his boyfriend and his best friend are both geminis. He trusts that Bokuto is a virgo, and that’s about it. Well, Kenma’s a libra, so he trusts him too. Kuroo being a scorpio makes him too powerful, and apparently even Akaashi has a “birthday”, but he’s a sagittarius and that’s _almost_ as bad as Iwa and Suga being geminis.

But if there’s anything he loves more than teasing Kuroo for having the horny horoscope just to have it thrown back in his face that _he’s_ the horny one, it’s spending a little _quality time_ with Iwaizumi.

Which, to be fair, he never said Kuroo was wrong.

“Fuck, Tooru, slow down,” Iwaizumi gasps from behind him, Oikawa sinking back so that his thighs are flush against Iwaizumi’s hips.

“Hurry up,” Oikawa counters and digs his fingers into the sheets, starting to roll his hips before Iwaizumi can even get the chance to move. “It’s been too long and you’re too good with your mouth and now I need _this,”_ He punctuates his sentence with a small gasp as Iwaizumi meets his motions, readjusting his hands for better leverage.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi sarcastically huffs, resting his hands on Oikawa’s hips, his rough palms smoothing over Oikawa’s skin enough to make him break out in goosebumps. “But I’m still shaking the rigor mortis off.”

“Well shake it off faster,” Oikawa hums, his throat turning it more into a whine as it creeps up from the back of his throat. “I want to make your second first time magical. I’ll have you know that I have very good reviews.”

That one earns him a firm warning squeeze, but if Iwaizumi was really trying to punish him, it wasn’t much of a threat. Oikawa moans softly, letting Iwaizumi fuck into him at his own pace, meeting him with a small push backwards. 

Even if saying it makes Iwaizumi turn red as a tomato and get all adorably mumbly and quiet, Oikawa thinks it’s romantic that they both get to be each other’s second first time. It’s a little less romantic now than _his_ second first time had been, which was a few weeks into dating and only a few days after his twenty-first birthday, the date itself one of the first nights he’s felt truly _cherished._

But this? Iwaizumi getting Oikawa all to himself in their favorite position after passionately declaring their literally undying love for each other? This is good too.

And Iwaizumi is _gentle._ Always has been. Even now, finding his rhythm with an expert’s knowledge of Oikawa’s body, each thrust toeing the line of greedy and selfish and _hard,_ it’s gentle in the way he kisses down Oikawa’s spine, or the way his hands seem to inject comfort into his veins in a way that only Iwaizumi can. It’s gruff whispers of praise spoken straight into Oikawa’s ear, the words muddling his thoughts with every compliment of just how _good_ he is for him, how _lucky_ Iwaizumi is to have him in his life.

Oikawa’s the lucky one.

Always has been.

“You’re quiet today,” Iwaizumi presses his lips against Oikawa’s shoulder, the kiss spreading warm heat as Iwaizumi’s breath rolls over his skin. His thrusts start to slow and turn shallow, breath soft in his ear. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Oikawa pants lightly, desperately trying to pick the motion back up.

“Well don’t think too hard,” Iwaizumi teases, mouthing at his neck.

“I wouldn't if you would just hurry-”

Iwaizumi chuckles and immediately pulls back and rocks his hips, hitting Oikawa so deep that it knocks him into the pillow underneath him, muffling the pure, unfiltered cry that rips from his lungs. If he wasn’t trembling into the sheets, he might be able to see the undoubtedly smug smile that’s probably on Iwaizumi’s face. 

That dumb, cute smile. 

Damn him.

Damn him and how perfect he is.

And he’s just so fucking _good_ at making Oikawa melt into a mess of blubbering putty, all words escaping him as Iwaizumi draws back so fast it makes his head spin.

Fucking rigor mortis _who?_

Iwaizumi was probably just lying to get out of fucking him for a few days. 

He probably deserves it.

But with Iwaizumi’s hands on his thighs, mouth on his back, whispers in his ears, and heat just so deliciously deep inside him, he can’t find a single reason to care. Arms wrap around him and hoist him up onto his knees, his back against Iwaizumi’s chest, head tilted to the side, mouth captured, and he’s safe. 

He feels safe.

“Hajime,” Oikawa sobs brokenly, eyebrows scrunched together as Iwaizumi knowingly reaches around to wrap his hand around him. “I love you.”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi takes his mouth again, licking and sucking and drinking in every sound that falls from his throat. He grins against the open-mouthed kisses, green eyes gleaming darkly. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it. Say it again.”

“So mean, H-Hajime,” Oikawa reaches up and grabs a fistful of Iwaizumi’s hair, bright heat coiling tighter and tighter in his lower abdomen. He kisses deeper, tongue languid in its movements but hungry all the same. He tries again, the words nothing more than a trembling, whiny whisper, his eyes clenching shut, lip worried between his teeth. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Tooru,” Iwaizumi returns sweetly, snaking one hand around Oikawa’s thigh to hold him in place, the other speeding the steady flicks of his wrist. Soft, gentle kisses find their way across his skin, each one igniting something better and better. “So fucking much.”

Oikawa just whimpers, the sounds building into a string of incoherent names and yes’s and curses. It’s small cries, sloppy kisses, the sound of skin slapping against skin. More mewls, more praise, a blissed out pathetic sob of a laugh, and finally, a quickening spasm and Oikawa’s two shaking legs. A name, cried so honestly it goes straight to the building heat in Iwaizumi’s core, and before Oikawa even hits the bed, totally spent, wet heat spilling into him.

Iwaizumi gives a few more shallow movements and pulls out in favor of crawling under Oikawa and rests him on his chest. He cleans himself up to the best of his ability as Oikawa finds his spot, and Iwaizumi slowly threads his fingers through Oikawa’s hair the way he likes it. 

Oikawa spends a few extra moments soaking in the rise and fall of Iwaizumi’s chest, the heat of his skin, and presses an ear against the center of his being to hear the echo of his heartbeat. 

Just in case.

“Not bad,” Oikawa swallows a heavy breath and meets Iwaizumi’s clouded eyes. “For a born again virgin.”

“Oh, shut up.”

-

Ushijima learned very, _very_ long ago that if you wanted gossip, you had to go to Hanamaki’s café. But not when Oikawa is working, or when Yahaba is behind the register. Yahaba doesn’t like to spread gossip about people he knows, even though he’s loose lipped with everyone else’s business, and Oikawa straight up sneers and walks away whenever they enter.

Which _would_ be suspicious, if it weren’t for the snide remarks he makes towards everyone he works with and the customers that annoy him. 

It’s actually very hard to tell who’s a possible Dark witch and who’s an overworked retail employee.

“So,” Terushima taps his frappuccino onto the table to settle it out, massaging his temples. “Your birthday is in a few days, are you going through with the ritual or no?”

“I think I’ll wait a few weeks,” Ushijima answers firmly. “There’s no rush to convert when the goal is to lay low. Besides, we can still track him the way we are now.”

Terushima snorts. “I don’t think ‘laying low’ is in our vocabulary anymore. We’ve been asking everyone everything, I’m sure everyone in this goddamn town knows us and our life stories. No one has information on Kenma, we should just assume he’s dead or not here and move on,” He hesitates, staring at his drink. “And if he is miraculously okay, the tracking is probably giving him headaches, we shouldn’t hurt him like that.”

“We can’t leave him here,” Ushijima looks down at his tea, watching the liquid turn way darker than it probably should be. “His family was our family. They would want us to find him.”

“Dude,” Terushima takes a long sip of his drink. “The only person that could have possibly known where he is died back in June. I don’t know what the Dark wants with Kenma, but I know Kenma, and if someone was keeping him somewhere against his will, he’d find a way to escape. Dude’s tough. His parents were tough, too. He’s probably already gone.”

“I know that he’s strong,” Ushijima frowns, sipping at the bitter tea, the steep definitely having gone on for too long. “I don’t like the idea of possibly leaving him here to suffer.”

“I’m totally sure he’s fine. Besides,” Terushima’s eyes sparkle to something behind Ushijima, and he turns around to look. Across the street, the bakery owner Tendou pushes a trolley full of new appliances out of a truck, laughing giddily as he starts rolling it down the slight decline. “You sure there isn’t another reason you want to stay in this town?”

Ushijima presses his mouth into a line and buries it into his drink, Terushima giving a small chuckle of victory. 

“Look, we’ll hang around, look for Kenma, and you can get Mr. Baker Man’s number. If we can’t find Kenma until then, we’ll report back to Washijo that he’s probably not being held here. We’ll find him elsewhere and in the meantime, bring those Dark witches to Light, I promise.”

Ushijima turns back around, Tendou pointing and laughing at some coworker with a bowl cut that trips over his own shoe. A small smile forms on his lips, and he turns back around to face Terushima.

“Deal.”


	22. Unperson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the chapter with idiots in love and hey look another small oc
> 
> Chapter Song: Unperson by Nothing But Thieves

Akaashi likes to believe that he understands emotions. He may not be the best at expressing them, but he still feels them and their full range, much to… well, _everyone’s_ surprise. Looking at Bokuto, he may not get as adorably excited over the little things or turn into an absolute ray of sunshine or anything like that, but he can still understand emotions. He can still empathize, sympathize, and even if demons aren’t known for their emotions, he fully believes that every demon deserves to _feel._

And that’s why his heart aches for Suga.

He’s never been in love before. He’s never had a crush, and even if he did, he’d probably just overlook it in some stupid bout of insecurity. He’s never been in love, but he has had his heart broken once, twice, more than a few times with every person that’s ever _used_ him, and that’s enough for his heart to _ache_ for Suga’s situation. 

“Hey,” He pokes his head through the bathroom door, Suga’s main door locked, everyone mutually agreeing that he’s just not well enough to get out of bed and unlock the door himself. “You need anything?”

Suga looks up from his blanket burrito, pausing whatever sitcom he’s watching on his laptop, eyes puffy and red, face exhausted and devoid of life. He’s been like this ever since the “break” started four days ago, and between work, Daichi, and the overall shit that he’s had to put up with recently, no one’s said a goddamn thing about it. They know he’s hurting. He knows he’s hurting. The best everyone can do is offer their full support and glare at Daichi through the window whenever he leaves his house to go to work.

But Daichi doesn’t look any better than Suga does most days, gazing at the house like a lost puppy, trying his best not to linger, not to give back in, and everyone knows that it’s taking a toll on both of them.

Akaashi knows people. He knows relationships, and hearts, and lust. He can practically see their hearts still calling out to each other, the same way Kuroo and Kenma’s hearts call out to each other when everything is quiet and they’re watching something on the couch or making soap, soaking in each other’s existence. The same way Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s hearts call out to each other when they meet on their lunch breaks, walk each other to and from work, give soft brushes of skin against skin, grazing knuckles, a hand on someone’s lower back, just to reaffirm that they’re still there. The same way Bokuto lights up when his best friends enter the room, when he gets a call from his sisters that he’s way too excited to answer, how his heart radiates light and beauty brighter than the sun itself.

Daichi and Suga are still in love, whether they know it or not. Whether or not they want to admit it to each other or admit it to themselves, it’s just the truth.

They’re still in love and they need each other but they also need to step up and make up and figure out their feelings or else that very call will be less of a harmony and more of a siren’s song, luring them both into the murky depths, never to resurface.

“I, uh,” Suga licks his cracked lips, slow blinking through his foggy gaze. “Some water, maybe? It’s fine from the bathroom sink, I don’t want to make you walk all the way downstairs.”

Akaashi nods and takes Suga’s empty mug, “I’ll get it from downstairs.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Akaashi says with a final nod, unlocking Suga’s door for him and stepping out, closing it behind him. He looks at the mug, smiling at how it’s shaped like a dog with the same design as Suga’s favorite pair of socks. 

He makes his way downstairs, stepping past Kuroo and Kenma using the vacuum sealer to package soap at the dining room table, Kuroo getting way too excited to watch all the air suck out of the bags. Kenma haphazardly adorns each bar with a sticker, two of the stickers stuck to the back of his hand and shirt like an upside down badge. 

In the kitchen, Bokuto is busy prepping for dinner. It’s some dish his mother always used to bribe him into helping her make, one that Bokuto knows by heart and loves to make more than anything else, opting to cook it once every two or so weeks. And it’s delicious, so Akaashi can’t complain about eating it so often, much like everyone else.

Akaashi had never paid much attention to it before, but when Bokuto focuses, his cheeks puff out a little, his eyes turning a bright, happy gold as they dart around for ingredients. Laser focus, and it makes Akaashi give the smallest of smiles, looking at someone so passionate about making something for his friends, so determined to help raise Suga’s spirits, so wanting to be a good person that anyone and everyone can rely on. 

And he has very pretty eyes. That’s also a plus.

“Is he okay?” Bokuto asks, side eyeing Akaashi as he crosses over to the fridge.

“He will be,” Akaashi reassures, Bokuto wiping a streak of flour on his forehead. Akaashi suppresses a laugh and reaches up, wiping off the streak with his sleeve. “I think everything will work itself out soon.”

Bokuto hums in response, turning away when Akaashi’s hand falls back down to his side, starting to whisk all the dry ingredients together. Akaashi has no idea what the dish is called or how to even start making it, but if Bokuto’s the one cooking, he knows it’ll be amazing. All since Bokuto is a great chef, definitely not for any other reason.

Right?

He realizes he’s staring and pulls the mug away, averting his eyes to glare past a smug looking Kuroo and Kenma at the house next door.

Ennoshita is sitting outside talking to Nishinoya on his back porch, the two of them going over something on Ennoshita’s laptop. Ever since what Kuroo and Oikawa dubbed as “Truth Night”, Ennoshita has been working overtime learning all he can about the truth of witches, sharing his findings from whatever witch hunter database he gets all his bullshit from. There’s even information on demons, apparently, and he admittedly (and understandably) wasn’t super excited to admit he’s a sex demon that eats people.

He’s more of a reformed demon at this point, his cravings having dulled into something less than ravenous. He thought that it would only get worse, that being around Bokuto would ultimately result in Bokuto getting eaten, anxiety and hunger filling his stomach every time he was alone with the witch.

But somehow, it doesn’t seem to affect him that much now, and instead, he feels the most satisfied right here by his side.

Or maybe it’s just the smell of human home cooking. 

Bokuto _is_ a great chef, after all.

Akaashi lets the cup in his hands catch fire as it portals upstairs, hoping that he aimed it correctly and that it’s now resting snugly on Suga’s bedside table instead of in Suga’s bed. His aim is pretty good, even if he’s a little out of practice, and teleporting smaller objects is easy enough, so it should be fine.

It’s strange that in a house full of five witches, he’s become the one with the most magical power. Teleporting small objects through hellflame, being able to manipulate his appearance, and his unused and out-of-practice shadow travel never looked so powerful. Usually his contracts for sex don’t require such powers, or he’ll use them minimally to eat his master’s enemies before indulging on the master themself. Now that he’s not only stuck here for an immeasurable amount of time, but also the strongest magic user in the house, he might as well practice.

Everyone stares.

“Since when can you do that?” Bokuto points the whisk at him, white powder flicking over his shirt. “Akaashi! You can’t keep secrets from us!”

“I thought it was common knowledge,” Akaashi counters, shaking off his shirt, meeting Bokuto’s eyes with a teasing grin. “O Great Summoner.”

“Hey now-” Bokuto’s eyes narrow, and he puts the whisk back in the bowl, reaching out at Akaashi with outstretched hands. “No one teases me and gets away with it.”

“Did you teach him that dumb tickle thing?” Kenma turns to face Kuroo and Kuroo shrugs.

“Maybe?”

Akaashi turns hesitant, “What tickle thing-”

Bokuto’s hands move over Akaashi’s ribcage, and Akaashi bites his tongue, trying to keep the forced laugh in. He tries his best, the motions starting to cross over into painful the more Bokuto digs his fingers in. Bokuto’s smile starts to fade, the glimmer in his eyes starting to dull. He tries again, moving to Akaashi’s sides, and Akaashi holds in the laugh at the expense of his lungs, clearing his throat and pulling the straightest face he can manage. He can’t let Bokuto win.

But Bokuto moves again, dumbly competitive, pressing his fingers into Akaashi’s back.

And Akaashi is a simple incubus. He’s good at his job, and he’s fully equipped with sensitive spots he usually forgets about, touch activated by his master and his master alone. And Bokuto is (probably) blissfully unaware of… almost everything relating to incubi. He most likely doesn’t even think twice about how his hands brushing over certain spots could possibly-

_“Ah,”_ Akaashi moans softly, before he can stop it.

Bokuto instantly freezes and pulls his hands away like Akaashi’s been set on fire, Akaashi fitting his lip between his teeth as embarrassment starts to creep its way from his back up to his face. Bokuto’s cheeks, neck, and ears are red, bright red, his eyes wide and darting everywhere except for Akaashi. He clears his throat softly and turns back to his bowl of ingredients, his motions rigid and awkward.

“I am so sorry,” Akaashi puts a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the deepening heat. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Bokuto says, a little raspy, a little shaky, his accent picking up as he nervously speaks. “Don’ worry ‘bout it.”

Akaashi turns his head, just to look literally anywhere else, and finds two pairs of eyes staring back at him, pupils narrowed and cheshire cat grins stretched across their stupid faces. It’s eerie how well Kuroo and Kenma can mirror each other so perfectly, their eyes all-seeing and entirely amused. 

They know. Akaashi knows. Akaashi knows they know and they know that Akaashi knows they know, and thank whatever god, earth mother, fucking kpop idol people worship nowadays, he doesn’t care, he thanks _who-the-fuck-ever_ is listening that Bokuto probably doesn’t know.

Because Akaashi’s never been in love before, and he doesn’t know what to do.

And if it weren’t for the purple flames suddenly erupting out of their cauldron, he might have even let himself be embarrassed, let himself remember the way Bokuto’s fingers brushed over him, just for a moment longer.

-

“I am so proud of you, Koushi, for going into the Darker parts of the library-”

“Dad-”

“-And our family’s reputation for Darkness, of course, how wonderful it is that you decided to uphold such a tradition! I am so, so very proud-”

“Dad-”

“Of you! And to think you wanted to go into something as simple as herbology! Potion making! Ha! Imagine a Sugawara, a _proud_ Sugawara, doing something as miniscule and drab as _potion making,_ reducing all this power to… to plants!”

“Dad-”

“I knew that this family, this beautiful Dark coven, would be good for you, I mean, it doesn’t have that Sakusa boy as I would have liked, but he is also doing great, great things! Have you heard about his summoning feat? Not to mention he’s focusing his time into combining body magic with other magicks! And on top of that, he’s managed to summon not one, but _two_ demons! How wonderful indeed. How is Bokuto doing with his Akaashi demon?” His father clicks his tongue. “I am sorry for your future loss, by the way. He was a very talented summoner, indeed.”

“Dad,” Suga starts again, having moved to sit on the couch over the course of his father’s ramble, setting the grimoire aside. “Did you call just to tell me what Kiyoomi Sakusa is up to?”

“Well I thought my question was obvious,” His father blinks. “I was asking which pathway you’ve decided to go into. I would like to know before next month’s Autumnal Equinox gathering.”

“I don’t know yet,” Suga shrugs. “I thought I would try a few more things out before I committed fully to just one.”

“You mean you haven’t found your natural affinity yet?” His father falters a bit, his fake smile grinding down a little before it reappears, faker than before.

“Like I said,” Suga reiterates, biting back the sigh that’s started to gather in his core. “I’m trying out a few more things before I commit.”

“Well,” His father’s voice is cold. “I hope you’ll check out something worthy of a Sugawara. Black magic, maybe? I can see you mastering black magic. And your exemplary use of body magic on your tasks might be promising. Maybe you can ask the Sakusa boy for tips, if that’s the case.”

Suga purses his lips, insecurity clawing at his ankles, draping itself over his shoulders, “I will.”

“Good,” His father nods. “Now, how is your sex life?”

Suga chokes.

“Dad!” He exclaims, his cheeks already starting to turn pink. “What? Why… Never mind, I know why. But that is _not_ something I want to discuss with my _father.”_

“Shame,” His father pouts like a damn child. “Your grandmother and I always talked about our adventures in pleasure,” He sighs in disappointment. “I’ll take it to assume that there’s something going on then, I won’t press further. But if you ever do want to take after your old man, get involved in the Faction, I would be happy to introduce you to some newly converted-”

“Dad,” Suga buries his head into his hands. “I’m not interested in sleeping around the Faction.”

“Alright, I know, I’m just trying to make light of whatever this is,” He gestures to Suga. “You look tired, overworked, please take better care of yourself, since it’ll make your magic stronger. I’ll be holding your family accountable for your wellbeing, since you have a formal public appearance in September for the equinox. Dismissed.”

“I _what?”_ Suga chirps, and the purple flames consume the image of his father, the room going dark and numbingly cold. He lets out a huff of frustration, flopping over on the couch, wondering what the hell his dad’s signed him up for now.

He groans.

-

The forest returns, just like it always has. There’s a sun shining in the sky, if a little fuzzy around the edges. There’s many trees, even though Suga knows this clearing, knows that it’s not far from town, and that there shouldn't be this many trees. It’s wild, untamed, and the looming presence of all the former witches somehow feels lackluster. Fresh. The woods are fresh and full and teeming with life, and it’s not right.

These aren’t the woods that Suga knows from his dreams. These aren’t even the woods he knows just from having lived in that house his entire life, but at the same time, they are. They’re the same woods, the same trees, the same haunted branches that scrape the clouds and sun alike, but they’re wrong and they’re different and they’re _light._

But he’s _dreaming_ again, and that’s all he cares about right now. 

He needs something familiar, even if he has no idea what these dreams are, has no idea why he gets them or what they mean, he just needs _something_ in his life to be constant beyond things just getting worse and worse.

And this clearing is beautiful, the daisies rich in the soil and colorful and bountiful, the sun shining directly down with golden rays that make the flowers sway and dance. There’s dandelions and clovers littering random patches on the inside, and in the center, his mirror self lays on his back, napping peacefully under the wispy clouds and among the honeybees and butterflies. 

He almost looks human.

Suga takes a seat next to the family grimoire, the pages open to an empty portion, a quill and inkwell resting on top. The top reads “VM, tests thirty-three and thirty-four” in dried black ink, the quill threatening to add another drop from where it lays unguarded. His mirror self snores lightly, the same way Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo, Akaashi, and Daichi tell him he sleeps, with his lips parted and face completely relaxed. Suga fights the urge to boop his own nose, knowing why Daichi loved to wake him up that way, and leans back, staring up at the blue of the sky and the gently swaying branches.

Birds call in the distance, songbirds with full melodies in their hearts, bleating out soft tunes that echo through the thick of the forest. It’s sweet, how soft the notes are, how they chirp and flutter through the treetops and up from the soil. The song of the earth, the earth’s heart, a song that many don’t have the pleasure of basking in.

Suga closes his eyes, letting the warmth soak into his clothes, the black behind his eyes turning pinkish red with the light of day. The clovers tickle at his cheeks, at his palms, and everything smells of dirt and dew, clinging to his nostrils like one of Bokuto’s hugs. It’s home, and Suga breathes deeply, matching the rise and fall of his chest to the slow rustle above him.

He can’t help but smile, and hail The Dark Ones, it feels great.

There’s quiet footsteps that approach, and Suga sits up in alarm, eyes snapping open as a grinning figure treads carefully out of the treeline, making his way up to other Suga. He shakes his head with a fond smile and takes a seat, picking up the quill and inkwell, Suga raising an eyebrow. 

So this man has access to the family grimoire…

Not even his own coven family has access to the Sugawara grimoire. 

He watches the man, taking in his features. Shoulder length brown hair, light brown eyes, smile lines already starting to form on his temples despite only being a few years older. He’s gorgeous, definitely mortal, tall and tanlined like he spends a lot of his time working outside. His eyes sparkle looking down at other Suga, and he softly chuckles, opening the inkwell with a soft pop and dipping the quill. 

He starts writing something out, pausing in short bursts, humming softly as he thinks and works. It’s a happy tune, something soft and light, something nostalgic and full of life. The hair on Suga’s arms stand up, and the notes start to float over him, barely aware of the tune. Itt’s familiar, in a weird sort of way, like a whisper in the wind he’s heard floss through the trees. Suga’s eyes wander between the two men, the blond man staring with so much love in his gaze that it nearly makes Suga melt, his mirror self blissfully unaware of it all, his snoring starting to hollow out into gentle breaths. 

The man finishes his work and sets the grimoire back down, scooting over in between the two Sugas, laying on his side. He brushes a small piece of hair out of other Suga’s face, and he stirs, his nose scrunching up as he groggily opens his eyes.

“Oh,” He yawns, eyes finding the man. “Hello.”

“Hello yourself,” The man responds softly, his smile broadening. “Now what’s a pretty man such as yourself doing all alone out here?”

His mirror self groans and rolls his eyes, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“Causing problems for my family,” He grins. “My brother, my real one, is a bit of a pain in the ass, and I’ve decided to be a nuisance.”

“Is that so?”

“Quite. His wife is to have a child, and I’m not too fond of the little imps. I don’t want to be an uncle, I’d rather summon a Daishou demon.”

The man lets out a laugh, hearty and full, and his mirror self gives a small chuckle of his own, his eyes sparkling and his smile complimenting the cheery pink that fills out his face. 

“Now come here,” Other Suga pulls on the man’s shirt, bringing him down to meet his kiss with his eyes closed, the kiss tender and warm. “I’ve missed you.”

Suga blinks, and when he opens his eyes, he’s laying on the daisies, the clovers tickling his palm, his hand grabbing a bunched up fist of Daichi’s favorite shirt. Daichi looks down at him, smiling, his eyes bright and content. There’s not a care in the world in that smile, just pure joy brought on solely by basking in his presence.

He speaks, his voice overlaid with the brunet man’s, both deep in their own different ways, the low rumble giving Suga goosebumps.

“Sugawara, I think you might be the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes open again, and he’s laying on the couch, a blanket strewn over his legs. The room is pitch black and deathly silent, the house still and shut down in the wee hours of the night. Suga sits up, slowly, hunched over as he blinks away the image and buries his face in his hands.

His heart throbs against his chest, heavy, like the slow pitter-patter of a summer rain, and it hurts like spring hail. Daichi’s bright, loving smile imprints itself on the back of his eyelids, mocking what could have been. And how dare he be so gorgeous, how dare his dreams show him something so beautiful and sweet and… have reality take it all away.

He misses Daichi.

There’s no doubt about it.

His mirror self had something like that, too. Had someone who loved him. Had someone to tell him how beautiful he is, someone to hold him in a field of daisies and show him what it means to be loved. Someone he trusted enough to give access to the family grimoire. Suga peels away from his palms and turns his head to the tattered old book that’s resting on the coffee table.

He leans over and turns on the lamp, squinting in the golden light, and brings the grimoire into his lap, the tome resting like a thick slab of stone on his thighs. He opens it, flipping through the pages, looking for anything that has to do with what the man could have possibly written.

If he had written anything at all. 

It was a dream, after all.

But no, these aren’t dreams. These are memories. Memories of a time he doesn’t know, can’t relate to, can’t fully remember. Memories that make him want to burst into tears because of how his heart just swells in his chest, but he doesn’t even know the man’s name. 

He flips through the pages with the pad of his thumb, scanning over spell after spell, person after person. Dad’s section flies by with a flurry of curses, his Grandmama’s section adds voodoo for specific body parts in great detail, great great great Uncle who-the-fuck-ever passes by with some more “body magic”, (and damn, what is it with his family and sex magic?), and even his own dumb section worms its way in between the family’s books, showing off his entries on magic fever and tips on making immortality potions.

He sighs, forehead wrinkling in frustration, hanging his head in his hands once more. Some crickets chirp outside, a few frogs croaking near the window, loud enough to just barely make it to the living room. He looks at his dying phone, 2:21 quickly turning into 2:22. He closes his eyes for a second, his tears somewhat burning as they coat the dryness, and the grimoire starts to rustle.

Pages turn on their own, and Suga opens his eyes just in time to see the pale, faded figment of a hand trying to flip through it, going backwards until the black pages return, white ink bleeding out from the page itself. The hand fades into nothing, like it had never been there at all, and Suga starts reading the ink as it presents himself.

_You dance upon a bed of beginnings  
Lost in the music of the summer sky.  
Like an ember in my palms  
You shine like a precious gem._

_Shine for me when you cannot dream.  
When you promise soft and speak  
That heartfelt song of soul,  
That precious name of you and I._

_How beautiful you are  
To sleep among the earth’s wildflowers  
As fierce as your blooming will.  
My precious storm._

_In my dearest witch,  
Magic becomes mine.  
My heart, my love, a burning  
Beauty in the light of the black and purple sun._

_My Precious June._

Fat tears start to sink into the pages, and Suga raises his fingers to his eyes, meeting the slick wetness that spreads across his fingertips. He pulls them away, inspecting the sheen that develops in the dim light of the room, the glow of the words changing into a few smoldering embers before they burn back into the charcoal paper.

A name trickles on his lips, hot and bitter like it’s trying to claw its way free. He stares at the poem, his heart squeezing in the ghost of a fist, eyes burning like a rogue flicker of purple has escaped its repression. It exits like a breath, like a quiet mist, or a creeping forest fog, his voice the same but not quite his own.

_“Aito.”_

-

“Okay,” Bokuto wiggles out of the cauldron, shaking the hem of his shirt like it’s second nature. “I am so glad that the cauldron still accepts underage witch travel,” His brow furrows. “But I guess that makes sense since we see so many underage witches in there anyways. Oh well. The more you know.”

He turns around and helps Akaashi shake the shimmers off of his clothes, their skin starting to soak up the remainders. Bokuto isn’t quite sure where the sparkles go, exactly. He’s always just assumed that it’s the remnants of the dust he throws in to open the portal, and it all disappears soon enough anyways, but it does leave his skin dry and ashy, and at this point, he’s probably about thirty percent sparkle.

Which, to be honest, is nothing compared to last year’s Pride Parade.

He sends a quick text to Konoha to make sure he’s still there, the response coming quickly as he and Akaashi make their way towards the library, some other witches appearing from their own portals to their right. 

He isn’t sure why people around the parking lot don't question where all these people come from and why they’re all going into a seemingly abandoned building, but it’s never caused problems before, so he’s decided that some questions are best left unasked. He holds the door open for Akaashi and the people entering behind them, moving his hand to lead Akaashi in and to show the other witches that yes, this is his demon, but hesitates and pulls his hand back.

It’s embarrassing, the way he made Akaashi moan earlier just by touching him. He had a very limited knowledge of incubi, but after some more internet research, scrolling past pages of fanfics and lewd art, he was able to find some actual witchy sources. 

And as far as he can tell, any of Akaashi’s masters can activate his “pressure points”. But he’s never been able to enable them before, which means either he was doing it wrong or it’s just a new development, and not to mention it shouldn’t really happen since he’s, well… 

But it was so _cute._

It was so small and adorable and he had gotten so flustered, and all of it was just so _cute_ of him. And it’s not like he’s never heard someone moan before, he’s done his share of high school makeout sessions, heated college flings at parties he didn’t really want to go to, but none of them have ever gotten to him like this. It replays in his mind again and again, and it was just so _adorable_ to hear.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He signs himself in, hoping that he doesn’t lean down too far as to expose his lack of a mark to the scary front desk lady, Akaashi signing in behind him. They know the routine, they’ve done this enough times, and at this point, no one’s even fazed that there’s an Akaashi demon that frequents the bookshelves, other than a few people that’ve been missing out.

It doesn’t keep people from staring, though, and that’s something Bokuto really cannot stand. He knows it makes Akaashi uncomfortable, even if he says it’s fine and that he’s used to it, but Bokuto _knows_ Akaashi, and he _knows_ that Akaashi has unspoken issues with being objectified. It’s sick, the way some people feel entitled to make comments on how well proportioned he is, or how attractive he is, or how lucky Bokuto is to be able to bang a sex demon so often.

It’s sickening, and Akaashi is so much more than that.

They reach Konoha’s usual table after giving a short greeting to Hinata, Kageyama, his new coven member Yamaguchi, and the kids he tutors. They sit down in unison, both crossing their legs over their ankles and crossing their arms over their chests. Konoha looks between them, and bites his lip in a failing effort not to smile.

“What?” Bokuto asks, Konoha moving his palm over his mouth.

“Nothing,” He shakes his other hand, clearing his throat. “You two are just a really cute couple.”

Bokuto chokes on his spit, the wet glob of whatever the hell just went down his throat blocking his windpipe, forcing Akaashi to hit his back a few times. Tears dot his eyes, cheeks heating up. “What?” He screeches.

“I mean, aren’t you?” Konoha’s smile falters, his eyes going wide as he looks between them. “Oh shit, did I misinterpret things?”

“We’re not a couple,” Akaashi sputters out, the words only slightly discouraging. “What made you think we were a couple?”

“Well, you just like,” Konoha brings his hands together and interlocks his fingers. “You know?”

“No?” Bokuto looks at Akaashi, who avoids his gaze, looking down at the table with pink cheeks.

Oh god, is Akaashi embarrassed that Konoha thought he was dating someone like Bokuto? 

Maybe he’s embarrassed that Konoha thought a sex demon would ever go for someone asexual. It’s an odd pairing, and it’s just…

Akaashi would never go for someone like him. He can’t offer what Akaashi wants or needs… not like he could offer it to anyone else, either. But maybe he could reconsider what he’s willing to do, maybe he could try to be that person for Akaashi. Because he’s Akaashi. 

And Akaashi is worth finding his limits for.

His cheeks turn redder, and his mouth goes dry. He doesn’t even know if Akaashi feels the same way, and he’s getting ahead of himself. He clears his throat, and grabs a piece of paper and a pen from Konoha’s workspace, clicking it a few too many times.

“Anyways,” He side-eyes Akaashi, who seems eager to move on, too. “Getting off topic. Konoha, I want you to tell me everything you know about the Light.”

-

“Noya,” Tanaka sets the fresh pot of coffee down on the counter and leans his weight on the counter. “You sure you should be making a new notebook?”

“They took my old one,” Nishinoya huffs, scrawling out his notes by heart. “I put so much work into it, I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me.”

“But, like, what if you drop it or something?”

Nishinoya stops writing and gives him a flat look, “When have I ever let this thing out of my sight? Hell, I sleep with it under my pillow.”

Tanaka sighs. “Okay, fine, just… no names. At least promise me that.”

Nishinoya nods, immediately scribbling heavily over a few choice words. “Of course, I’m not an idiot.”

Tanaka purses his lips, taking the coffee back up to serve table four, flicking Nishinoya’s ear on the way over, “Yeah, sure you aren’t.”


	23. Jaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, this chapter kicked my ass majorly, and writing it was so needlessly *difficult* and *stress-inducing* that I almost lost my love for the entire book and gave up on it. But!! I didn't, I'm here, I fucking finished it after working on it for over four weeks straight, I don't care, it's fucking done, and I can finally fucking move on with the next chapter.
> 
> Chapter Song: Jaws by Sleep Token

One headache is a solitary event. It’s a hunger headache, it’s him staying up too late, or spending too much time around Kuroo’s dumb fragrance oils. One headache is just a headache. Two headaches is a problem, one that can easily be fixed with a little medicine and his favorite movie, curling up on his bed with Kuroo beside him, telling him dumb stories until he falls asleep. But six in one day?

The Light is looking for him.

Which might have been a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that he knows exactly what spell Terushima and Ushijima are trying to use, and it doesn’t even work well on underage witches. He knows that his parents taught them that, reminded them that it only works on actual witches, but he also isn’t surprised in the least that neither one of them were listening.

Now he’s just angry, pained, annoyed, and wet, carrying around a bottle of purified water just to sprinkle in his hair when the headaches pick up again. The real issue is that the Light is trying to find him, and find _him_ specifically. He knows why, he knows that it has to do with the fact he’s surrounded by the Dark, and the Light probably even thinks that the Dark kidnapped him instead of a rogue witch hunter.

They’ll probably praise him if he were to go back, if he were to present himself to Terushima and Ushijima and leave with them willingly. But going back with them means joining a coven that spurned him and took away his parents. A coven that strives to work alongside the same people that have contributed to his own suffering, a suffering that Kuroo’s been able to heal.

Truth is, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn’t know which side to join, which one would be better for him. He has until October to decide, but that’s only two months, and the thought eats away at him. 

_He can’t leave Kuroo._

He doesn’t want to. There’s a home here for him, there’s people he loves, people he never thought he would grow to tolerate and dare call friends. He’s safe, he’s happy, and that should make the decision obvious, but there’s something deep down telling him to go to the Light. Go to the Light, and he _might_ be able to make a change.

Join the Light, join something he was raised around, raised to do, spent years of his life dedicating himself to, and he can lead them away from hunting the Dark. Lead them away from Kuroo and the rest of the family. He knows Terushima, he knows Ushijima, he knows that they’re not bad people, knows that not every Light witch harbors a bloodlust for Dark witches.

All he needs to join and change their minds, and everyone can be safe. And then, he can still have Kuroo, and that would be the most wonderful thing.

-

Akaashi stares. He shouldn’t stare. He really should _not_ be staring. He should look away, go back to his shadow traveling practice. But how can he not look? How can he be faced with something so delicious, just laid out before him, ripe for the taking? He should really really look away. But then again, one more look won’t hurt.

He watches Bokuto do another pushup, his arm muscles bulging, dangerous for Akaashi’s heart, sweat dripping off of his brow as he finishes up his workout. Akaashi melts, literally, his foot is dipping into the shadow the singular closed curtain is casting, and keeps staring, lip fit between his teeth.

He’s being so obvious, but no one’s around to witness it, so he can be as obvious as he wants. Screw it, he’s checking out Bokuto, and he doesn’t have an ounce of care.

And god, he’s embarrassed that he’s getting kind of desperate. Watching porn with Oikawa and Kuroo isn’t as fun as it sounds, but he needs some kind of (rather suppressed, but he’s not about to get off in front of his friends) release. He needs to laugh at the fake sounds and shake his head at the impossible positions and just how fucking fake it all is, just to remember what it really feels like to be pinned down, kissed and touched and tasted up and down, and fucked so deeply that he can’t remember his own name.

He wants Bokuto to choke him with those thigh muscles, have Bokuto use one of those big, strong hands to hold both his wrists above his head so tightly it almost hurts, wants Bokuto to take him from behind without any reservations of how he feels. He wants to ride him so hard it could be considered impalement, remember the ache for days to come. He wants to give Bokuto the best fucking head of his life, put that pleasure point in his mouth to good use, and collapse on his chest when they’re both so spent they immediately crash. 

But Bokuto doesn’t want that, and as much as Akaashi wants to fantasize, that’s all it’ll ever be. 

And he’d rather cuddle up in Bokuto’s arms, feel safe and comfortable and have Bokuto feel the same than get railed so hard he can taste it. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, snapping Akaashi out of his head and back to the living room. He lifts up his shirt, showing off his abs as he wipes the sweat off of his face. “You feeling okay?”

“I am now,” Akaashi whispers under his breath, looking at Bokuto’s sculpted body. God, usually his masters are creeps, creeps that don’t taste good. But this? Fuck, he needs to go drink water or take a cold shower or put his trust into his right hand before things get worse. “I mean, I am. Thank you.”

“Good,” Bokuto smiles, his teeth perfectly white and fuck, this man is gorgeous. “I was getting worried. You just look a little… actually...”

Bokuto comes up to him, the few inches between them feeling like a million, and Akaashi refrains from biting his lip. And Bokuto looks… different. His eyes are a little glossy, dull, not the vibrant gold he’s grown so accustomed to. Before Akaashi can open his mouth to ask if he feels okay, Bokuto leans in, rough, warm lips pressed firmly against his own.

His eyes widen, and Bokuto pulls back, golden hues flickering between luster and fade, settling on half-lidded as he leans back in. Akaashi pulls away, heart pounding against his chest, his ribs shaking in anticipation, need, hunger, and confusion. 

Everything in his body screams at him to kiss back, to not question it, to end the contract and consume, but another part of him screams that something is wrong. That something is very, very wrong, and that this isn’t Bokuto. That Bokuto would never just kiss him like this. That Bokuto doesn’t even want to kiss him.

Lips meet again, Bokuto’s rough meeting his smooth, chaste in one way and greedy in another. It’s sweet, it’s not deep, or mouthy, or wet. It’s something that flutters, soars, melts, and laughs, over and over again. It’s warm, it’s warm and Akaashi likes it, revels in the feeling of Bokuto’s nose bumping against his cheek, hands on his arms. It’s sweet, and it’s something that’s entirely _Bokuto._

He could get lost in it.

“Hey Akaashi!” Oikawa angrily calls from the top of the stairs, the two of them pulling away, out of view. “Keep your damn seduction magic to yourself! I’m _this_ close to fucking Suga.”

Akaashi’s eyes go wide as a soft “I’d let you” comes from upstairs, looking at Bokuto’s glossy stare and half-lidded expression. He looks fuzzy around the edges, like his brain’s melting out of his ears. 

“Sorry,” He squeaks out, Oikawa storming off back to his room. 

Bokuto blinks heavily, slowly, and Akaashi takes a step back. Bokuto takes a half step forward, swaying back and forth, and guilt starts to pool. Is this… his doing? Is this Bokuto being affected?

But that’s…

He’s ace. He’s on the asexual spectrum. This shouldn’t… Why would he be affected? Why only now? The Earth knows that Akaashi’s done this so many times before, his pure horny energy spilling out of him like it has its own agenda, so why is it only just now that Bokuto’s affected?

What changed?

Unless…

Unless he was _wrong._

But what else could it be? If it never worked before, it shouldn't work now. So what’s changed? Akaashi wracks his brain for an answer, words and explanations rattling around like a jar full of loose change. One shakes free.

“You’re demi,” Akaashi breathes, and Bokuto blinks away the last of the haze, the bright golden glow returning to his eyes. 

“What?” He asks, the word slow and garbled as the fuzziness subsides.

“The the the,” Akaashi sputters for an explanation. “The asexual thing that’s the,” He snaps his fingers. “Demisexual. The demisexual thing with the asexual thing except it’s not asexual for certain people.”

His heart clenches. If his half-assed explanation is true, that means _he’s_ someone special to Bokuto. The thought throbs in the swell of his chest, nestling its way into the center of his being. It’s warm.

“I don’t…” Bokuto’s eyebrows knit together, and Akaashi tries his best to remember what the asexuality websites he had done research on had said. 

“It’s like you’re asexual to everyone except, like, people ‘special’ to you.”

“I’m still ace, right?” Bokuto’s hair starts to droop. “Because I ordered like, so many purple, black, and grey themed things.”

Akaashi can’t help but chuckle, running a hand through his own hair. Of course, there’s something inherently _Bokuto_ about that too. His lips tingle, and he reaches up to touch them, Bokuto turning beet red at the sight.

“I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over-”

“Bokuto, it’s fine,” He cuts him off. Seduction magic only makes you act upon your deepest desires, after all. And while Akaashi was thinking… thoughts… Bokuto thought only to kiss him so sweetly it could make his teeth rot. “It was nice. I liked it.”

Could he be any more awkward? Well, this is Bokuto after all, and if he’s learned anything about Bokuto it’s that the man goes through life with only a few cares in the world. How awkwardly Akaashi responds to a kiss isn’t one of them.

“You did?” He stands up straighter, looking like a kid who’s been told he’s getting ice cream after school.

“I really, really did,” He steps up to Bokuto, all smiles. And maybe being a little awkward can be sweet sometimes. Maybe it’s a good thing, just to see Bokuto light up like that. “And I think I’d like it if you did it again.”

“You…” Bokuto looks redder and sweatier than he had been during his workout. “You liked it.”

“I did,” Akaashi nods, his heart briefly sinking, panic starting to settle in. “Did you… I’m sorry. If you don’t want to do it again, I apologize-”

Bokuto dips down, capturing the word in his own mouth, deeper, rougher this time. Hands take his lower back, and Akaashi moans into the kiss, fingers brushing over the spot they had yesterday, but this time, there’s something intentional. Bokuto smiles against Akaashi’s lips, taking them against his own again and again.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” He apologizes breathily. “You’re really cute when you make that sound.”

“What?” Akaashi pulls away, the word a little muddled in his ears as the pleasure drips into his core. He shivers in Bokuto’s grasp, his fingers over such spots making his head spin. 

“Hey, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, Akaashi humming breathily in response, not confident in his own words. Bokuto’s own are but a whisper laced with slight fret, like he’s about to share his deepest secret. “I think I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

His hands make their way back to his sides, and he steps back, looking Akaashi over with those beautiful eyes, wonder dancing across them like he’s seeing Akaashi for the first time. He feels small, but not the kind of small his other masters have made him feel. Not the kind of small that’s scared and meek. Not the kind of small of something to be handled with wandering, greedy hands.

He feels small in the way that makes him want to curl up in Bokuto’s arms, small in the way that he could nestle in his being and make a home. Small in the way he can be protected, not forced to defend himself. Small in the way that he could fit in Bokuto’s hands and be cradled like he belongs, like he’s meant to be there, like he wants to become that last remaining puzzle piece.

Safe.

He feels safe.

And that’s more than he ever could have asked for, and something he didn’t know he needed.

-

“I think we need to talk,” Suga approaches Daichi in the break room, the words coming out a little more forceful and dull than he intended. But with his heart beating erratically like this, he’s surprised that he even managed to say anything coherent at all.

Daichi looks up at him with a blank stare, slowly chewing on a muffin, crumbs surrounding his mouth, his eyes like a lost puppy. “Wha?” He asks through the mouthful.

“I think it’s time to talk about things,” Suga unceremoniously falls into the plastic chair across from him. Their coworker opens the door, looks between them, and promptly walks out. “While we’re alone.”

“What do you uh…” Daichi coughs into his fist, eyes trying to find anything except for Suga. “What do you want to talk about?”

His words are shaky, almost as shaky as Suga feels. Suga almost scolds himself for using the worst phrasing for someone who has anxiety, and he conducts himself before continuing.

“I’m looking into controlling my magic,” He states, and the light starts to fade from Daichi’s eyes. “Full disclosure. I was wrong to have spied on you, I was wrong to have lied to you, and I was wrong to think that you wouldn’t have accepted me if I let it all out.”

Daichi nods, and sets down the muffin, folding his hands in front of him.

“Thank you,” He returns, moving to scratch the back of his neck. “And I… may have freaked out. A lot. More than what was easy for you, especially after… that...”

“Understandable,” Suga tries, but the face Daichi’s making definitely means he wasn’t done speaking. 

“I freaked out and put you in a bad spot. I’m sorry about that, and I was wrong to antagonize you.”

Suga waits a few seconds, just to see if he’s done, and then nods, looking down at the empty spot in front of him.

“I’m going to find my pathway next, I’m going to the library after work. I’m using this time of powerlessness to reflect, go back to my roots, find out what I want from the world. I’m going to take control of this,” He hesitates, his reflection in the table staring back at him. “Of myself.”

“And that sounds amazing, I’m really happy for you, Suga,” Daichi nods. “I’ve been talking to my own family, and I’ve learned a lot,” He frowns aimlessly. “About myself. And what I want, too.”

“So?” Suga slowly continues, heart huge, crawling into his throat.

“I want to give us another shot,” Daichi confirms, and Suga starts to feel like he’s floating. “I do, I think that… we’re both progressing. That we’ve both learned what we want and what we want to do,” He hesitates, and Suga’s lightness starts to sink. “But not right now. Not… I don’t want you to feel like I’m stringing you along while waiting for-”

“You’re not!” Suga interjects, and Daichi continues over him.

“I know, I know that, but I still think that we’re both just… not quite there yet. I want to continue this, I want to continue on with _you.”_

Suga bites his lip. “But?”

“But nothing. We’re on track to figuring our shit out,” He gives a small smile. “And I believe in us.”

Suga’s lips twitch into a smile, and his chest tightens.

This is who he had fallen for. This is the Daichi that he knew would have accepted him. The Daichi he wanted to sit down one day and explain everything to. Not the Daichi that had stumbled across their ritual, not the Daichi that broke up with him.

With this Daichi, he knows that everything is going to be okay.

-

“You again,” Tanaka greets with his hands on his hips, Terushima flashing him an innocent smile.

“Me again,” He takes a seat, folding his hands out in front of him. “Do I have a usual at this point?”

“Coffee with three creams and two sugars,” Tanaka reads off like it’s written on the back of his hand. “Where’s your friend? Mister black coffee with one sugar?”

“Bakery,” Terushima leans on his hand, looking around the diner. 

There’s only one waiter that he doesn’t really recognize, but with how tired he looks, maybe there’s a good reason. Tanaka pours him his usual cup of coffee, and Terushima thanks him, slipping his change into the tip jar like usual.

“Say,” Terushima bites the bullet. “You don’t happen to know a Kenma Kozume, do you? Short guy, dyed hair, might be all blond, might be all black, might have blond tips?”

Tanaka’s eyes float past him, just for a second. “Can’t say I do.”

“Yeah, figured as much,” He blows over the top, the coffee still unfurling wisps of steam. “Worth a shot.”

“Hypothetically, if I did know him… whatcha need from this dude?” Tanaka leans over the counter, the grey-haired waiter turning around, looking slightly over his shoulder at Terushima as he speaks. Terushima narrows his eyes, but sees that the waiter’s eyes aren’t on him, but the waiter behind him, who steals the same glance. There’s an awkward air, and he relaxes, knowing that it’s probably some workplace drama he doesn't want to get involved in rather someone knowing his affiliations. “Maybe I can lead you to someone who knows more.”

“He’s missing,” Terushima says simply, and Tanaka’s face twists into semi-overexaggerated worry. “I’ve been contracted to look for him.”

“I thought you were investigating that one dude’s death.”

“I was,” Terushima presses his lips into a firm line. “Now I’m trying to find this guy. Very important to his family that we do.”

“Well I’d hate to say that nothing interesting happens much here,” Tanaka rolls his shoulders, the silver haired man bending over to get some house made something or other from the minifridge under the counter, shooting Terushima the smallest of glares. 

Terushima peeks under his shirt as he bends over, just for old times’ sake, just because he’s a little suspicious, and sees a blank collarbone. He rests easy in his seat, the glimmer that maybe, just maybe, that he would find a crumb starting to flicker out of existence. Maybe there really isn’t a Dark coven in this town, maybe Kenma’s been taken somewhere else. 

Shame that Ushijima wants to stay here to get to know Tendou. If Kenma really isn’t here, then they’re just wasting their time, and Kenma could be facing something much worse. The Dark witches took Kenma, and then they killed Kobayashi, who was sent to find him.

He knows that that’s the truth, that there’s no other reason behind Kenma’s disappearance. He knows that the Dark is evil, that they’re witches who have lost their way, and if he can have a hand in helping them find the right course of action to help the Earth become the best place it can be, then he’s all for it.

His eyes lazily scan over the man’s name tag, Koushi, and he moves on. It’s not worth remembering the names of anyone in this town that doesn’t have any information. But then again, it rings some sort of bell, a bell he can’t quite remember, can’t quite recall. Maybe he’s seen this man before, maybe he’s read that very name tag time and time again and every time, like this time, he’s deemed him not worthy of remembering.

“How ‘bout you?” He asks, leaning on his hand, staring at Koushi. “You ever heard of a Kenma Kozume?”

“Can’t say that I have,” He purses his lips, unamused in the same way that every retail worker is. “Not all Japanese people in America know each other, you know.”

Terushima opens his mouth to defend himself but the waiter walks off before he can get a word in, immediately replaced with the other waiter he had been eyeing up. Terushima _really_ doesn’t want to know, he already has his own shit to deal with, and Ushijima fawning over Tendou is something he also has to deal with, so there’s that. He doesn’t have time for romance, doesn’t have time to do anything for himself.

Right now, all he cares about is finding Kenma, because he owes it to his mentors that Kenma is safe. He owes it to them because they were like his own parents, since his own weren’t always the best. And Kenma meant the world to them, and they meant the world to Kenma.

The door opens, and Nishinoya’s screams interrupt his thoughts.

“Ryuu! Check this shit out!” He steps up to the counter and jumps into a chair, swiveling around in a circle before producing a notebook from his jacket pocket. “I was talking to Chi, and guess what! Dark Ones-” Terushima’s ears perk up, eyes going wide as he listens in on the conversation. “ _Aren’t_ another word for Big Daddy Satan.”

Okay, he loses them there. Dark Ones. That’s something he’s interested in, but he knows for a fact that these idiots are mortal, and the phrase “Big Daddy Satan” is less than promising. He sighs into his hand, takes a sip, and laments the fact he’s still stuck in this earth forsaken town.

And yet, his eyes trail off to that notebook. He takes a sip, looks the man up and down, and promptly minds his own damn business.

-

“You know, I’m starting to feel like this is my second home,” Akaashi pulls himself out of the portal. “Bokuto is dead set on finding protection spells that underage witches can do and researching why the Light thinks Dark witches are evil, but why are you here?”

Suga helps him out, looking down at the sparkles that start to soak into his skin. “My dad is forcing the coven to go to some Autumnal Equinox banquet thing, and I need to find my pathway before then. It’s bullshit, but I need to just… take my mind off of things. Get my head straight.”

“Get your head straight?” Akaashi’s face twists into something more knowing. “Or doing something for Daichi?”

“I am doing this for myself,” Suga defends, pushing Akaashi’s shoulder towards the library door. 

But then again, maybe he is doing this for Daichi. For himself _and_ Daichi. For himself so that he can be with Daichi. And it’ll get his dad off his back, so that’s also a plus. But over everything, he wants to learn a pathway for himself. 

His dad had been right about one thing, and it’s baffling that he doesn't have a natural affinity figured out yet. Even underage witches are able to find theirs, and he always chalked up his own late discoveries to having been confined to reading books on magical political theory instead of levitating small rocks into people’s windows. In fact, despite being mortal raised, Oikawa and Bokuto had both found their affinities within weeks of finding out their true heritage.

It’s odd that he hasn’t found his own yet.

He’s pretty okay with potions, since he was able to start the poison poultice that was meant to kill Kobayashi, but the spying spell came easier to him in the moment. A spying spell… He doesn’t even know what kind of magic that would be. Spellcasting? Dark magic? It had opened a portal, so there’s definitely an element of transportation magic in there, but there’s nothing he could conceivably think of that has elements of all three.

He’s okay at spellcasting, but Kuroo’s always been better. He could summon a C level demon on a good day, but Bokuto accidentally summoned Akaashi and he’s A level, nearly an S level that would get a witch into trouble for having power over. Oikawa’s inches away from winning a master status of conjuring, and even Kenma has started to show promise when it comes to charms and curses breaking.

What could his affinity be? Nothing’s really come easy to him, nothing’s popped out, stood out, attached itself to his body, mind, and soul like a symbiote. 

Maybe he’s already found it, and it’s mediocre at best. 

Sounds like something that would happen to him.

He and Akaashi enter the library and sign themselves in, the front desk lady striking up a conversation with Akaashi while onlookers gawk and fawn over him. Akaashi takes the lead away from them and heads into the main part of the library, stopping dead in his tracks upon seeing the small crowd of people that have gathered in front of Konoha’s potion table.

Suga looks, his feet going cold as he meets eyes with Kiyoomi Sakusa, flanked on either side by two kitsune. One of the kitsune is sitting quietly, listening to Konoha speak as he goes over one of the library tomes, Sakusa also listening in. The other, however, is shouting at the crowd to get lost, and no one seems to be listening.

His eyes land on Akaashi, and the crowd disperses at the sight, the aura surrounding him bordering on terrifying, something somewhat feral. Suga follows Akaashi as he marches up to the group and takes a seat next to Konoha, anger boiling behind his onyx eyes.

“I never thought you’d attach yourself to a male witch, Miya,” Akaashi says coolly to the patient looking one.

“Atsumu got summoned, I tagged along,” He shrugs. “Been a while since we were on solid ground. Could say the same for you, Akaashi.”

The names click almost instantly, and Suga looks between the two demons, both A ranking, same as Akaashi. Osamu and Atsumu Miya, twin demons that attach themselves to a witch by giving them their first names upon their summoning, forcing a lifelong bond so that they can free themselves from chaos until their master either dies or ends up as fox food. From what Suga’s heard, they’re already hundreds of years old, topping Akaashi’s lifespan of four centuries nearly tenfold. 

It also forces Suga to remember that Akaashi has a given name, one that he’s probably kept guarded his entire life. Something so secret and personal that sometimes demons themselves forget what they’re called. Suga wonders if Akaashi could be one of them.

“Heard you got summoned, ‘Ji,” Atsumu smiles a crooked smile, and the fire behind Akaashi’s eyes brightens, the room filling with immense dread.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” He warns, so sincerely that Suga and Konoha shiver, Suga opting never to ask what he means by that nickname, but he has a pretty good guess. He cools off a little, and settles out enough to spit out a question. “What are you two doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Atsumu continues, unfazed. “Usually you’d have eaten seven masters by now, and yet you’re here with…” His eyes glance over Suga, eyeing him up like he’s the most intriguing thing in the world, a smile pulling at his lips. “Interesting.”

“He’s not mine,” Suga explains, sitting down next to Akaashi and across from Osamu.

“You’d better hope not,” Atsumu grins. “Our little ‘Ji is a bit of a binge eater-”

“I told you not to call me that,” Akaashi warns again, his nails sharpening as they rest on the table. His gaze never leaves Atsumu, and Sakusa flicks his ear. “Let’s not forget who’s closer to an S-rank.”

“Sugawara,” Sakusa speaks up, lowering his hand back down to rest on his grimoire, and the demons start to settle down. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Suga says with a little huff, meeting the witch’s eyes, breaking away from whatever feud the demons have going on, Konoha excusing himself and collecting his things to give them all space. “My dad’s been bragging about you, you know.”

“And I heard you killed a witch hunter for your task,” He returns. “Impressive.”

“Didn’t want to,” Suga says, looking down at the table. “So, what brings you here? I thought you were studying under Fuki Hibarida down in New York.”

“I was,” He nods, and Suga watches out of the corner of his eye as Akaashi calms down and starts talking to Osamu, Atsumu still focused intensely on him. His gaze is hot, relentless, and Suga feels small being stared down like this. “But things change. I’m working on perfecting my specialty now.”

“I heard,” Suga nods. “I’m actually here for something similar.”

Atsumu’s ears perk up, and Osamu gives him a short side-eye. It’s uncomfortable, the way they look at him, watch him with eyes that know something that he doesn’t. He shifts in his chair, trying to focus back on Sakusa.

“Haven’t found a pathway yet?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “With the Autumnal Equinox Gala coming up?”

Suga groans, leaning on his hands and propping himself up on the table, “Don’t remind me.”

Sakusa gives a small smile, and leans in. “Well, I have to give a demonstration, too. Voodoo, with some other things thrown in,” He starts flipping through the pages of his grimoire. “What were you planning? Maybe I could help?”

Suga takes in a deep breath and shakes his head, “I don’t even know my specialty.”

Atsumu snickers a little to himself, covering his mouth with his hand as he breaks out into a smile, laughing all over again. Everyone turns to look at him, and he waves it off, his laugh enough to make Suga want to punch him in the jaw.

“I’m sorry,” He giggles. “I’m jus’ laughing at this. Sugawara doesn’t know his pathway, that’s funny to me. You’d think it was obvious.”

Osamu cracks a small smile, and Suga looks between them, then looks to Akaashi for an explanation. He shakes his head, gives a little shrug of his shoulders, and Suga turns back to Atsumu.

“What do you m-”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself,” Osamu’s eyes shine like gemstones, his pupils narrowed into those fox-like slits that he was always warned about. The Miya twins are the very reason his father hates summoning, and he’s starting to understand why. “You got him up top, don’t ya?” He taps his temple. 

It’s Suga’s turn to be faced with expectant glances, everyone meekly looking for an answer. He doesn’t have one, other than his other self, and something tells him that the Miya twins know about it, too. He gulps, and looks down at his own grimoire, Sakusa partaking in a look of unspoken concern.

“One day,” Suga answers grimly, and the path becomes clear.

Whatever pathway he’s to choose, he needs to ask his mirror self. How the Miya twins know about him, he has no idea, but with their centuries of wisdom, they probably know more than him.

He turns to Akaashi, and blows a piece of hair out of his face.

“So, wanna go hit up the dream magic again?”

-

Ennoshita’s been busy. And not just normal busy, but busy busy, trying to scour every piece of information he can to find exactly where the witch hunters’ files turned religious. Which, he has a really good guess, but he doesn’t have the time to look back on the very first files. He doesn't even have time to do what he’s doing now.

He goes over his notes on the Sugawara family as per Nishinoya and Tanaka’s request, the two of them trying to fit every little interaction they’ve ever had with Suga into some sort of witch box of understanding, forcing him to go through everything he’s researched. How he got roped into their antics, he doesn’t know, but it certainly gives him a bad feeling, especially with Nishinoya’s new notebook, which includes vague but slightly incriminating material about the witches of the town.

Where did he go wrong in thinking that witches were inherently evil? When did his beliefs become so twisted? He’s a researcher, he’s not a witch hunter, but there’s something that’s been bugging him about his work.

Just how many people _have_ he accidentally sent to their deaths? Is he any better than the witch hunters in these notes?

Riya Sugawara, executed on May 17th, 1633 for summoning demons to steal and devour the local children. Burnt at the stake, ashes scattered in some forest in England. Jun Sugawara, executed on December 13th, 1723 for summoning evils to plague and torment the local village, which is the most vague execution note Ennoshita’s seen. But it also lists him as being beheaded, set on fire, and his ashes were “kept with the ocean”, and not necessarily in that order. Sachiko Sugawara, executed April 10th, 200X for dabbling in dark magicks beyond the comprehension of known witch partners. Cause of death unknown, but confirmed.

Ennoshita stares at the last date. 

He knows it’s Suga’s mother.

He frowns and puts the notes aside, the motion punctuated with a knock on his door. He turns his head and sighs, collecting all of his notes and files and hiding them away before he crosses over towards the door, looking through the peephole before recoiling, face scrunched up in confusion.

He reaches for the door, slowly, turning the doorknob and poking his head out, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Why are you here?”

Kuroo puts his hand on the door.

“I need your help.”


	24. The Killing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might notice that this chapter shares [a name](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4JHRcDc5DIV96DsIGkxHt5?si=5nDOgoX6QM-z7ta-0vdYNA) with another important chapter. (for good reason, heh. the songs may contain a little extra foreshadowing but not enough to miss out on anything you won't already find out just by reading)
> 
> Chapter Song: The Killing Moon by Nouvelle Vague ft Melanie Pain

It’s moments like this where Bokuto fully and lovingly remembers how beautiful of a creature Akaashi is.

That’s just a fact of life.

He’s beautiful, his hair shining in the light, soft and fluffy as he threads his fingers through and along his scalp. It’s the way his eyes will go from black to that soft gunmetal blue, so ethereal that Bokuto can’t help but stare in pure awe, hoping that such eyes would grace him with their gaze. It’s Akasshi’s warmth, both body and heart, radiating off of him like a blanket that he can’t help but want to nuzzle into.

He’s desperately in love with Akaashi. 

And in some twist of fate that Bokuto will spend the rest of his centuries-long life wondering about how he got to be so goddamn lucky, Akaashi likes him back.

He looks up at Akaashi, who looks way too belonging in his lap, sat comfortably between his legs like it’s shaped perfectly to his body, and Akaashi meets his eyes, a grin spreading so wide his jaws might just split open. But there’s a twinkle in his eyes, one that Bokuto knew but never registered, a happy and wanting and _beautiful_ twinkle that’s all for him.

He could melt right here and now.

Especially when Akaashi’s lips are on his, between his, around his. And kissing… kissing is good. Kissing is great. He may be asexual, demisexual, whatever he is it’s definitely not straight, and knows kind of what that means for him, but kissing is something he can tolerate and like and understand. Kissing is good, especially with someone like Akaashi.

Except there’s a lot of tongue. 

Akaashi licks into his mouth, and Bokuto tries to enjoy it, tries to reciprocate because there’s one of Akaashi’s cute little spots at the roof of his mouth, and if he flicks across it the right way, Akaashi shivers. But there’s something that’s just _gross_ about the idea of two tongues slapping against each other, sucking up each other’s spit, Bokuto breathing in Akaashi’s breaths and vice versa.

Akaashi pulls away, and Bokuto nearly thanks the Christian god out of habit for getting a break.

Kissing is good, kissing is really good… when it’s lips, when it’s sweet and when they come together like romance movie protagonists. Making out? Bokuto can’t say he’s a huge fan. Great in concept, but the execution is just… mouthy. Super, super _mouthy._

Akaashi pulls his shirt over his head, and Bokuto starts to panic.

He licks across Bokuto’s closed mouth, eyes smiling and sparkling and absolutely blown wide in bliss, and Bokuto knows that this is what Akaashi was made for. This is his job, and to anyone else, it would be a death trap.

But he’s not anyone else, and his lips just feel wet and slick. He doesn’t feel sexy, doesn’t like how much spit there is, and although he’s _very_ happy to see Akaashi take off his shirt just for Bokuto, putting on a little bit of a show in the process, Bokuto can’t help but bite his lip.

He can see himself liking this, but just not now.

Akaashi tries again, hands wringing the hem of Bokuto’s own shirt, tugging and whispering encouragement between breathy kisses. Bokuto blows air out of his nose, eyes starting to burn with a small promise of tears.

It sucks that he’s not more into this. Because he really, _really,_ wants to be into it. He really wants to get into it as much as Akaashi is, see what else might happen at the end of the kissing, but he just wants to cry. His heart is too fast, too heavy, everything fuzzy but somehow blindingly sharp. He can see every detail of the room, of Akaashi, hear every noise and feel every slight temperature change of the room, but everything feels so weirdly _fuzzy_ that he just wants to burst into tears.

He hates it.

And he hates that he hates it.

He hates that he hates it and Akaashi looks like he’s having the time of his life.

Akaashi tries again, his motions a little hesitant, a little slow, and he pulls back on his own, Bokuto closing his eyes as Akaashi leaves him with a small, sweet peck. It makes him feel better, but he still feels absolutely shitty for not being into it enough. Maybe if he tries again?

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says, his voice lilted in a question. “Are you okay?”

A soft palm finds his cheek, and Bokuto cracks his eyes open, everything blurry with the few lone tears that slip out. Akaashi’s eyes go wide with either shock or horror, and he wipes the tears away with his thumb, resting his other hand on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He whispers, his voice cracking.

Bokuto wants to speak, but his throat is dry. He just shakes his head and sucks in a breath, looking up at the ceiling as he blinks away the other tears that try to escape, too. Akaashi sits back and gives him space, and Bokuto’s more than grateful that he isn’t saying anything. That he’s backed off despite… everything. 

He takes in another deep breath, deeper, deeper, and then he closes his eyes, and holds it. 

He holds it. 

He holds it. 

He holds it. 

He lets it fizzle out of his lungs, and he looks back at Akaashi.

“I’m sorry.”

The words come weakly.

“Bokuto, you don’t have to apol-”

“I’m really sorry, Akaashi,” He says again, meeting his eyes as they shift into a worried, human blue. 

And that’s not what he was worried about. He doesn’t care what Akaashi looks like when they’re together. He thinks both versions are beautiful, loves how confident Akaashi becomes in his demon form. He loves Akaashi. He loves him, so, _so,_ much.

He loves him.

“I want to do this,” Bokuto adds, his face heating up with his embarrassment. Embarrassment of what, he isn’t sure, but it’s creeping up his neck and his cheeks enough for him to try and cover it with his palms, his hands cold and warm at the same time. “I want to do this. I just… there’s too much going on, there’s too much tongue and that’s a really weird thing to say but it’s true and I just can’t-”

“We don’t have to.” 

Akaashi says it so simply that the hot blush Bokuto’s slowly being consumed by gets sucked back up into his body, replaced with something shockingly cold. Not a bad cold, not a “Akaashi is angry” kind of cold, not an indifferent cold, but the sort of cold that he gets when he dodges a bullet. Akaashi climbs off of him and sits on the bed, looking around for wherever he’s thrown his shirt to.

“I want to,” Bokuto tries, and Akaashi turns his head, his eyes flickering back to black, but it’s soft, a warm kind of void. They see right through him. “I can get there one day. I like it. I like it but it’s weird and I don’t know if I like the weirdness yet. It’s just…” He fumbles over the words, but Akaashi has always been a patient man. “I can touch you and like the way you react, and I can kiss you normally and love that contact, but I just can’t focus on anything except how weird it is. I’m not into it when you kiss me like that.”

“Then we don’t have to kiss like that,” Akaashi shrugs, leaning over to scoop his shirt up off the floor. “Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Bokuto repeats, eyes dropping to his own lap, staring at his own body. 

“Hey,” Akaashi scoots closer to him on the edge of the bed, giving him a small smile that Bokuto knows is a grin. “You have limits. That’s okay. And you’re honest, which is even better. You don’t like making out? We don’t have to do that. There’s so many other things we can do,” His eyes go knowing. “Trust me.”

Bouto mulls over Akaashi as he calms down, mulls over his soft hair, his warm eyes, his ethereal aura. Akaashi knows what he’s talking about. He does. And he’s patient, patient enough to help Bokuto learn his own limits and patient enough to respect them. Akaashi loves him back, and he knows that. He knows it well.

Bokuto reaches his hands up as Akaashi tries to find the bottom hole of his shirt, tugging him in close, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s bare chest and locking him into place. Akaashi cranes his neck to look at Bokuto, scoffing out a laugh as he makes himself comfortable, and Bokuto nuzzles into his hair.

He smells like Bokuto’s shampoo.

And right now, smelling lavender and feeling lean muscle and listening to Akaashi laugh and ask if he wants to watch a movie, well, that’s all Bokuto could ever ask for.

-

Sugawara sits in a field of grass, just like he has every single afternoon for the past nearly five years. He’s freshly twenty-two, young, and nothing feels better than reconnecting with nature, his grimoire set out before him, thin with the entries, but he cherishes every page nonetheless.

He smooths out his hand over the wrinkles of his own book, smiling to himself at all the work he’s put into his book of spells, the smile nothing short of proud and eager to add more. A gender swap spell that uses body magic and glamors to temporarily change one’s sex, his first spell, proudly introducing his other additions.

He hopes to use it one day, just to be able to go into town with Aito and have a public display of affection, a spell created so that he can be happy with his love in public, and only temporary so that he can love him with his true self in private, as well. The change isn’t much different, he’s still the same person, same thoughts, values, personality, just a different outside.

He hopes that one day people will be more accepting of his fellow witches and mortals who experience it without magic. And his spell could help people achieve that, if only for twelve or so hours at a time.

He smiles again, broader this time, and reads over his other spells, looking through what has yet to be tested, what he has yet to break and reshape so that the Earth and witches can work hand in hand.

He raises his head, his brother, his real brother, not his coven brother Sakusa, entering the clearing from the treeline, two figures behind them as they walk. He frowns.

This can’t be good.

“Brother?” He gawks, looking between the kitsune.

“I have made an error in summoning,” His brother frowns back, the twin kitsune looking down on him, their stares equally cold and darkly amused. “A-rank.”

Sugawara holds in a sob. He bites his lip, taking in his brother’s expression, and nods. “How much longer?”

“About a year.”

The sob escapes him, and he covers his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to reason. He still has a year left with his brother. A whole year left, that’s a lot of time.

But what about his niece? Who will care for her when his brother is consumed? She’ll never even know him, poor girl, and made to be raised by their own mother, he figures. A shame, but he knows that the girl will grow up to scorn summoning, and probably teach her kids and grandkids to hate the same.

He looks at the foxes, their eyes all knowing, young, and hungry. He knows of them already, even if they’re new to this world, barely a century old, and he knows that a year is much longer than they usually give out. They’re being generous to his brother since he has a child, but in the end, they won’t care too much about how he leaves her behind. Sugawara looks over his dear brother as if looking at him for the last time.

A sad day indeed.

-

He holds Aito’s hand, squeezing it painfully so as he sucks in a sharp breath, Aito wincing with a laugh.

“We can’t do this if you keep injuring me, love,” Aito leans back, and Sugawara tries to find the courage to scoot up closer, the woods a lot breezier on his bare skin than he had anticipated. “Are you sure you want to do this out here?”

“I am a proud witch,” Sugawara puffs out his chest. “If I want to lose my innocence in the woods I will do so as I please.”

“I’m sure you would,” Aito hums, leaning back in. “But we still have to do away with it, now, don’t we?”

“You’re rushing me,” Sugawara looks up and into Aito’s eyes, the moon shining brightly above him, the floating fires that surround them casting warm shadows over his features. There’s a fondness, then a panic, and he blindly reaches a hand out for his bag of magical items. “Maybe we need more oil-”

“You’ll be fine, love, if it’s truly as magic as you say,” Aito chuckles, running his hands along Sugawara’s thighs, lightly digging his fingers into the soft flesh in a way that makes him tremble. “And if you aren’t, then I’ll let you have me.”

His eyes fly open, looking for any hint of a lie. There isn’t one.

“I am going to hold you to that,” Sugawara says without a moment’s hesitation, falling back down onto his back. “And I’m getting cold.”

“I know, my dear witch, but I’m trying to warm you up,” Aito teases, and Sugawara sticks out his tongue. “Can we try this again?”

“Go faster than you were, you worry me when you’re slow,” Sugawara stares up at the night sky, feeling Aito inch nearer. “This would be much easier with the gender switch spell.”

“I wouldn’t ever take a you other than the you in front of me,” Aito leans down and presses light kisses across Sugawara’s skin, dangerously close to being able to slip inside him. “I love this you the most of all.”

“I know,” Sugawara rasps out, the words strangled with shock, embarrassment, and pure amazement. He clenches his eyes shut as Aito passes into him, unfamiliar and prodding. He makes a sound of discomfort at the initial feeling, but his family’s book of sex tricks and potions is more than helpful.

Aito waits a moment, and Sugawara stares up at him with the utmost wonder and awe, the two laying in break before they start again, Sugawara reaching a hand up to cup Aito’s face, his own melting into a fond smile.

“I love you too, Aito,” He grins, his hand falling back down to his chest, hips wantonly rolling into the other man. “Now, my love, show me you feel the same.”

-

Sugawara laughs at Aito when he shows up to their next date with an instrument, a big goofy smile on his face that reads nothing less than pride and excitement. He kneels down next to him on the blanket they’ve laid out, Sugawara shaking his head in childlike amusement as he snacks on a handful of berries, periodically hand-feeding Aito as he tunes the damned thing.

He’s never looked so beautiful, smiling that excited smile of his. 

“I wrote you a tune,” Aito admits, strumming idly. “It’s not very good, but it’s everything you deserve.”

“Oh?” Sugawara leans back on his hands. “Pray share.”

“It’s to the poem I wrote in your book,” Aito sits up straighter. “My Precious June.”

Sugawara snorts and brings the grimoire into his lap. “You spelled my name wrong, you know.”

Aito’s brow furrows. “Did I? June, like the month.”

“I believe I said it was pronounced like June, the month. Spelled without the ‘e’,” He flips through the pages of his grimoire and shows Aito how he’s scribbled out the ‘e’ at the end of his poem. “Jun.”

“Well, I’m not the best at spelling,” He leans in, eyes sparkling. “But I did have an excellent teacher.”

“Not excellent enough if you cannot manage to spell my name correctly,” Jun flicks his nose and follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. 

“I like your name, I like thinking of it as a month. A great month, June is.”

“Is it?”

“A perfect month to be born in,” Aito grins. “I would know.”

“I bet you would,” Jun rolls his eyes, moving to prop his head up on his arms, watching Aito as he strums on his new instrument, the tiny plucks upbeat and jolly. “December is hardly fun. I’d hope for a June birthday, just to celebrate the coming of summer.”

“What does it mean?” Aito tunes the instrument and strums.

“Innocent,” Jun chews on a berry, and Aito snickers, earning a punch to the arm.

“I would argue that such a name would never mean pure when applied to you, my love.”

“How rude,” Jun gasps, throwing a berry at him. “It also means falcon, which I think is quite mighty.”

Aito snorts out a laugh, and leans back down, smiling against Jun’s lips, gracing across them but never quite touching them. “Mine can mean ocean, you know.”

“I did not. I do now,” Jun looks up at him through his eyelashes.

“We should go someday. Just you and me.”

“Yeah?” Jun giggles, and Aito meets his lips, capturing the word in his mouth before pulling away, looking down with gleaming eyes and a dumb smile. Jun’s sure he’s wearing the same one. “I’m sure I can make a spell, just for us to get there.”

“You make spells, I make songs, and we both make love,” Aito considers, scratching his chin. “I think the Church might hate us both.”

Jun lets out a wheeze of a laugh, hanging his head down, eyes shut. Aito joins in, laughing so heartily that it fills up the whole clearing, bringing in a deep sense of love and light as the original twelve witches’ ghosts watch over them. He hopes they’re happy, seeing a witch be so happy with a mortal, happy that through their sacrifice something can be made anew. 

“Anyways, my love, show me the song,” Jun requests, and Aito’s eyes brighten, Jun lost in the pure sunshine that shines behind them.

He starts to strum, starts to play an equally upbeat song, reciting the lyrics.

Jun knows them by heart already, knew them by heart the first time he saw them, and finds the tune, humming along as he gets to his feet. 

“What in Heaven’s name are you doing, Jun?”

“I am dancing, my love,” He says, spinning around in slow circles, making his way through the clearing. He spreads his arms out, humming along, head starting to dizzy.

But he continues to spin, whispering spells in the tune of the song, flowers sprouting where he steps, roses so deeply red they almost look black. Each movement encourages more to grow, encourages the flowers to fill out the grassy field with lavender as bright as his eyes, red roses so deep they’re more black and purple, and, of course, daisies, Aito’s favorite.

The song continues, and Aito’s voice gets drowned out by Jun’s laugher, his dizzy feet carrying him back to the blanket, collapsing on Aito with an exhausted , satisfied sigh. He looks around the new garden, then up to the treetops, soaking in the sunshine. 

Aito looks over him as he finishes his song, one line remaining as he dips down and brushes his thumb across Jun’s skin. He meets his lips, kisses deeply, sweetly, the smell of flowers almost intoxicating, and whispers against him.

“I love you, my dear. My Jun, my dear witch.”

-

Suga wakes up in the middle of the clearing where Jun and Aito’s garden once was, scrambling to sit up on his knees. He swallows hard, clenches his heart, gasping for air and running his hands through his hair.

His chest is heavy, heart too big, ribs too small, the air coming hard and without oxygen. His body is clammy, sweatier than it’s ever been, tears burning his cheeks as they spill over and drip down his chin. He cries, shoulders heaving as he retches into a full sob, liquid emotion streaming down his face, dirtied hands trying to wipe them away, all to no avail. It’s to no avail. Aito is gone. The garden is gone. There’s nothing here that’s left of them.

He cries, he sobs, he clenches his chest and digs his fingers into the dirt at how his own heart wrenches, at how something terrible of a hole has burrowed into the center of his very being. He cries, and with his tears, his wails, his heavy, rocking sobs that fill the night and make the stars themselves weep, hundreds of rose blossoms bloom, each one a pure, _innocent_ white.

-

“I don’t get it,” Terushima sighs, blowing a piece of hair out of his face, watching it rise, flail in the dissipating wind, and then fall back down into his face. “Why Washijo is so intent on keeping us here to find the Dark witches.”

Ushijima stares back, although his eyes keep flicking between his phone and Terushima, his screen lighting up with the occasional message from Tendou. Terushima sighs again, and props himself up on his elbows, continuing to blow the hair out of his face. 

Ushijima doesn’t say anything else, and Terushima knows it’s his way of telling him to continue.

“I mean, what are we even going to _do_ when we find them?”

“We convince them to join the Light. Simple as that.”

Terushima frowns.

“So, like,” He continues slowly, brow furrowed. “If Dark witches can go Light, does that mean Light witches can go Dark?”

He stares ahead, watching the condensation on his drink start to pool around the bottom. He drags his finger through it, and meets Ushijima’s eyes. They’re both sitting in silence, but Ushijima’s eyes read something busy. His bottom lip pouts out in thought, and Terushima lets his eyes drop back down to the table. His answer is simple.

“We shouldn’t question our authority. They know what they’re doing.”

Terushima fits his straw into his mouth and takes a lazy sip, unsatisfied.

“But like, metaphysical bookstore owners. We have an agreement with them, and they're not bad people.”

“Correct.”

“But they’re Dark.”

Ushijima considers it. “Also correct.”

“So there are some Dark witches that aren’t bad, right? What if a lot more of them aren’t bad?”

“These ones took Kenma,” Ushijima raises an eyebrow, and Terushima waves him off.

“I know, I know. But like. Hear me out. How does it make sense that some Dark witches can be okay and others ones are bad and we’re just supposed to take Washijo’s word for which ones are which? How does he know if we’re the ones out here doing all the recon and people like Ennoshita doing the research. Speaking of which…” Terushima looks around at nothing in particular. “He’s in this town, right? How come we haven't seen him once?”

“First,” Ushijima begins, his eyes quickly falling onto the buff man that walks next to them, and Terushima follows, barely recognizing him as one of the waiters from yesterday. “They know. They’re wiser, and through the research they receive they’ll be able to tell us who is good and bad. Witches who kidnap other witches aren’t good.”

“I know,” Terushima frowns, and the waiter turns his head, just a little, Terushima squinting as he orders two drinks from one of the nosy-looking baristas. Interesting. “Even if these witches are bad, I don’t think all Dark witches are bad, you know?”

“I would agree.”

“So, like, how do we know if we’ve found the right ones. Let’s say the ones we find here, if there are witches here, how do we know if they’re the good kind or the bad kind?”

“I guess,” Ushijima looks down at his phone, a small smile tracing his lips, and he starts to stand up. “I guess we just see if they have Kenma or not.”

“You going to go see Tendou?” Terushima boredly sips on his drink, knowing that it’s time for him to portal back to his dorm room. He already knows the answer.

Ushijima smiles.

“Maybe.”

-

The first thing Kuroo notices is Suga’s makeup. First of all, it actually looks blended, his eye makeup popping gorgeously against the color of his eyes, the pink and yellow eyeshadow bold but somehow fluid with the shape of his face. It’s casual, but it gets attention. It’s nice, and it’s sure as hell better than anything he ever could have done on his own. Akaashi, maybe, but he’s probably preoccupied with Bokuto.

Second of all, Suga’s outfit is form-fitted, and is that a blouse? Is Suga wearing a blouse instead of his normal t-shirt and jeans. The jeans are still there, but he looks… damn. Suga’s kinda hot.

“You look all dressed up,” He pauses his episode of Jeopardy and cranes his neck to watch Suga try to find his shoes.

“I am,” He answers simply. “I’m seeing Daichi at the bakery today.”

Kuroo blinks. “Why?”

Suga meets his gaze, almost frozen as he tries to come up with a response. He looks a little to his left, as if he’s looking at something, and nods a little to himself. 

“We worked things out,” He smiles, but it seems a little forced. “We’re meeting for coffee, and I might be a little late. So, I gotta go. These,” He holds up a pair of converse. “Or these?” He shows off something a little nicer. Shoes Kuroo didn’t even know Suga owned.

“Second pair,” He twists his body and leans over the edge of the couch. “You sure this is okay? Meeting him? I mean, you’re still on your break, right?”

“I made a commitment,” He slides the shoes on, giving himself a little spin in front of the mirror. “I owe him a second conversation about everything. To work things out, you know?”

Kuroo hums, but it’s a little suspicious. He narrows his eyes, and Suga gives him another smile, sending a text and putting his hand on the doorknob.

“You should probably go see Ennoshita about the research you were doing,” He twists it and opens the door. “He found your answers last night.”

The door closes, and Kuroo scrambles to his feet, trying to run after Suga as he borderline _skips_ to his bike, the bike itself taking off faster than Suga can probably pedal. Kuroo furrows his brow, falling limp against the wall, trying to figure out how in the ever-loving hell Suga had known he had asked Ennoshita to look into the history of the original thirteen witches. He looks out of the window, and watches Suga disappear down the street, and frowns to himself. 

-

Daichi waits all of three minutes after Suga texts him he's on his way before Suga enters the bakery, Hanamaki and Matsukawa giving them both knowing glances as Suga crosses over the bakery floor. Daichi sets his phone down, his screen still open on the notes he made of what he had heard the witch hunters talk about, complete with a warning to Bokuto that one of them is possibly dating his boss, and he gawks at Suga’s outfit.

He looks… wow.

Like… 

_Wow._

He sits down gingerly, a smile stretched across his face and his hands folded out in front of him. He looks down at the coffee and smiles, taking it into his hand and meeting Daichi’s eyes with a familiar mischievous grin.

“Thank you for buying me coffee, Daichi, do I owe you anything for it or-”

“My treat…” Daichi trails off, looking over his features.

He does look gorgeous. And when he had texted him, asking to meet up, Daichi can’t deny that he had dressed up just a little bit, too. But to this extent? It’s…

Daichi stares. A good, long stare. So long that Suga’s face starts to falter as he sips on the drink, equally calculating Daichi himself. Daichi opens his mouth, closes it, presses his lips into a line, and continues to stare.

“What’s wrong, Daichi?” Suga asks, setting the coffee down. “You look troubled. If this is about what I said last time we met, then maybe we can rephrase it this time around. I would love to work things out with you.”

He shifts in his chair and smiles a _familiar_ smile, the one that’s sickly sweet instead of warm and hums melancholy tunes. He knows Suga’s lips, knows how they speak, how they get bitten in thought or embarrassment, how they stretch when he smiles, tilt up when he throws his head back in laughter. He looks at them now, lip gloss coating them and the straw, and he _knows._

Daichi opens his mouth again, sure of the coming words.

“You’re not Suga.”


End file.
